


Ghosts

by youtextd



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, Hurt, JOHNLOCK IS ENDGAME, Jealous John, Like emotionally constipated idiots!, Love Confessions, M/M, Mycroft's Meddling, Our boys are idiots, Pining John, Pining Sherlock, Post-Season/Series 03, Protective Lestrade, They have a long bumpy road ahead of them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-03
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-21 02:52:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 24,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3674688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youtextd/pseuds/youtextd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After John and Mary's separation, John is living back inside Baker Street with Sherlock. Slowly, they seem to be moving on becoming more than best friends, but the sudden appearance of one of Sherlock's old friends, throws everything out of balance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

Certain days stick out in John's mind.  Like the Friday he first met Sherlock or the Thursday they wordlessly agreed they would die at the pool together.  Then there was the worst day of John's life, the Saturday he felt Sherlock's wrist for a pulse and there was none, of course how could there be after a fall from that height?  But then there was the Friday Sherlock came back to him, dressed as a French waiter no less - that day was supposed to be the start of a new life for him and Mary (Gods, that seems so long ago), but it turned out to be better than he could ever hope, Sherlock had come back to him from the dead (that definitely overshadowed the engagement - and it should - Sherlock living, meant John lived).  He was pissed at first, but looking back on it now, he understood why Sherlock had done what he did, even if he hadn't agreed to it.  After that there was the Wednesday he found Sherlock dying on the floor of Magnussen's office, damn he had come so close to losing him (again) that night.  Well, theoretically he had, but John doesn't like to reflect on those several minutes Sherlock didn't reside on this Earth.  That reality was unimaginable, unthinkable, so John locked it far away and tossed the key.  Next came the Sunday that Sherlock disappeared from the hospital, but more importantly it was that evening he found out the depth of Mary's betrayal (bad for her, good for John).  Then there was the Thursday where Sherlock had shot another man to protect John (again what is it with him thinking he knows what's best for John?)  Which led them to the almost wordless Saturday goodbye that they both knew would have been their last had it not been for the trick that Mary had concocted with Moriarty.  A lot had happened in all those months in between then and the Tuesday he showed up back at Baker Street with all his belongings.

Since then, life had been simple and happy - almost perfect.  John was back where he belonged, by Sherlock's side.  Now, if he could only get them over that last hurdle - from friends to something more than friends, life would be complete.  

So, it took him by total surprise that Tuesday when they ran into a ghost from Sherlock's past.  

 

Sherlock couldn’t keep the small smile of his face as he regarded John in the soft candlelight – courtesy of Angelo’s. No matter how hard John had protested in the past, the owner of their favourite restaurant had never seemed to give up hope. Unlike Sherlock.

For a moment, one breathtakingly beautiful moment – and Sherlock abhorred the sentiment at the memory – he would have thought that they might have a chance. That John might see past his petty protests of being ‘not gay’. He had hoped, when John had shown up at Baker Street, overnight bag in his hand – how did the life of such an amazing man fit in just one bag?

But they had remained in that limbo, their friendship restored and Sherlock had settled for it. Everything was better than returning to a life without John. No matter how much it might hurt him once his flatmate would start dating again.

For now, however, things were good.

They had just returned from the Yard after a thrilling case involving a delicious triple murder – John was already in the process of coming up with blog titles – and John had insisted they should grab a bite to eat at Angelo’s. Sherlock had to admit; he had been hungry.

So they chatted about meaningless things. Once Sherlock would have been appalled with himself because of this, but the satisfied grin on his face told him that that time had long since passed.

Sherlock was so absorbed in their conversation and dinner, that he barely noticed the new patrons entering the restaurant. The man however, did notice Sherlock sitting in the booth and did a double-take, mouth falling open in surprise.

‘William?’

Sherlock stopped mid-sentence at the sound of his given name and tore his eyes away from John to take in the man who had just entered, although he needn’t have looked. Other than his family and John, only one other man knew his real name. And even if he hadn’t, nothing had been able to delete that voice from his mind palace.

‘Victor…’ he breathed out.

Victor’s face broke in a massive grin as he moved over to their table. Sherlock could hardly believe his eyes. Victor Trevor, his only friend – and lover – during uni. They had lived together, studied together and eventually gotten high and fucked together. Until the business with Victor’s father had torn them apart. Mycroft had once casually mentioned during rehab that Victor had moved to India and Sherlock had locked his memory away. But never deleted it.

He looked…well. Still tall, still with those maddening light curls and those pale eyes. A healthier colour on his cheekbones though. Suit made to his measurements and very comfortable in them. He’s done well for himself, Sherlock couldn’t help but notice.  Good. That was…good.

‘Sherlock?’

John’s voice broke Sherlock’s stare and he felt his heart hammer in his chest. Right. Victor. John. One room. Victor and John in one room. This…shouldn’t be so damned frightening.

‘Uh…Victor, this is John Watson. John, this is Victor Trevor, an old acquaintance.’ Sherlock hesitated slightly on that last word and he was suddenly reminded of his encounter with Sebastian, years ago, where John had refuted that statement.

Victor extended his hand to John, eyes never leaving Sherlock, smile still in place, charming as ever. Sherlock swallowed. ‘Oh please, William, you’re still a friend.’

 

It unnerved John how Victor's eyes never left Sherlock, when the man extended his hand to John to greet him.  In polite society, shaking hands usually meant eye contact, but not in this case apparently - suddenly John felt out of place, like he didn't belong next to Sherlock, and that infuriated him.  John accepted the handshake hesitantly.

‘An old acquaintance from where exactly?  I've never heard Sherlock mention you.’  John couldn't help the jealousy that coloured his words, and it made John suddenly realise there was quite a lot he didn't know about Sherlock's past.  Well, that needed to change and fast.

Victor grinned wickedly as he withdrew his hand and let it now settle on Sherlock's shoulder.  ’We were together in uni, but like everyone, we lost track of each other afterwards.’

 _Together?  As in **couple**?_   John's mind was reeling.  Mr. ‘relationships (male or female) Not My Area' had been  ** _together_** with this Victor Trevor in uni. John took a moment to take in Victor and it began to make sense why Sherlock would be with him.  He was tall - yes, taller than Sherlock, by at least two inches he suspected - and very attractive.  His bone structure was not that much different from Sherlock's - high cheekbones, perfect nose and lips; it was like he was sculpted from marble.  His skin was flawless, and his voice, it was like honey, sickeningly sweet and not something to be forgotten.  Yes, he could see why Sherlock would be with Victor, and it just reinforced John's notions as to why Sherlock would never be with him like he desired.

 

Sherlock alternated his gaze between Victor and John. Part of his mind was still reeling over the fact that Victor was here! 

After so many years, where Mycroft occasionally informed him of his whereabouts and achievements - Sherlock never admitted it out loud but he enjoyed to learn that his old...friend? Lover? Companion? was doing well. 

The other part of his mind noted John's discomfort and...jealousy? as John tried to measure himself up between them. 

Why would John react this way? He had no reason to be angry. Why even would he? 

 

‘Not exactly,’ Sherlock heard himself say in response to Victor's earlier comment, and the crestfallen look on John's face nearly did him in.  

John's mouth gaped a bit when Sherlock admitted he hadn't actually lost track of Victor after their years in Uni together.  Well, what was that about then?  This was going from awkward to worse as the seconds ticked by.  John was ready for Victor to leave and they'd only just met mere minutes ago.  

Victor smiled broadly, his eyes lighting up with surprise as he continued to look at Sherlock, ‘I wasn't aware.’

Sherlock cleared his throat, ‘Yes, well you know...’ his voice trailed off, he was completely uncomfortable and didn't know what to do; how to best handle the situation without offending anybody.

Well, that was all John could handle. He clenched his fists under the table.  He needed to get out of here and get out of here now.  John took his napkin from his lap and threw it on the table as slid out of the booth abruptly,  stood and motioned at his empty spot to indicate Victor could take it.

‘Please, looks like you two have some catching up to do, and I've just remembered something I must do.’  With that he turned and quickly left Angelo's, as his feet hit the pavement and the cold air greeted him, he was finally able to breathe again without feeling like his whole world was closing in on him.  This feeling was awful, this must have been how Sherlock felt when he saw John and Mary together in the restaurant the evening of his return - well maybe not entirely, but close at least.  This changed everything. 


	2. Chapter Two

Before Sherlock had wrapped his head together and managed to formulate a response to John, his flatmate had stood and left. Victor raised his eyebrows in surprise and turned to Sherlock. 'I'm sorry, did I interrupt somet...'

'No,' Sherlock rushed out, ignoring the sinking feeling in his gut. He had missed something, he knew it, but he didn't see, couldn't see, what it was. He sank back down on his chair, gesturing Victor to take John's place. It felt wrong, to see Victor sitting where John would normally sit. But he was curious. 'John and I aren't...' He waved his hand uncomfortably and Victor smiled. 

It was disarming, the way Victor managed to completely claim Sherlock's attention for his own. He had always managed to, even in their younger years, even in the thralls of a high. Victor calmed his mind with a smile and a soft touch on his arm. And Sherlock craved it. 

Never before had it been clearer to him that all his years of building up his defences had left him starved for this. Sherlock swallowed his nerves away with the wine as he and Victor talked, about the past and about current events. 

When Angelo hesitantly came to their table to tell them it was near closing time, Sherlock stood up quickly. He should go home. To John. 

'It was lovely to see you again William,' Victor said and Sherlock felt himself nodding in response. It really had been after he had managed to get over his nerves. 'Is it alright if I give a call someday? I'd love to see you again, real soon. It really has been too long.' 

'You know why Victor.'

Victor's expression darkened a little but he nodded. 'Still... I wish...' Victor looked at him with hope in his eyes and Sherlock felt his defences crumble to the floor. 

_No. No! Stop this, this isn't... This is over! John..._

But despite the protests of his own mind, Sherlock didn't move back as Victor leaned in and brushed his lips against his cheek. 'I'll see you soon, Will,' Victor whispered and Sherlock nodded again as he pulled away. 

_Stupid! Get your head together, you idiot!_

Sherlock walked, away from Victor, away from Angelo's, into the anonymity the city had to offer him, bypassing every camera he could find. If Mycroft was aware Victor was in town, it wouldn't be long before he'd make his appearance at home. Meddling bastard! 

By the time he reached Baker Street he was unaware of the time and desperate for John's presence. Even though his behaviour had been...odd. He entered the building - knocker still crooked, Mycroft hadn't been here - and strode up the stairs.

'John!'

 

John had spent a good forty five minutes just walking, trying to let his anger dissipate.  He didn't know why he was so upset - well that was a blatant lie.  Of course he knew, he just didn't want to admit it, because admitting it meant things between him and Sherlock were starting to shift and he didn't want that - not unless they shifted in a way beneficial to himself.  Was that so much to ask for after all that they had been through?  When he showed up back on Sherlock's door step, he thought he had seen a glimmer of a chance there - a chance for them.  Hell, basically Sherlock had stood up in front of all their friends and confessed his love for John at the wedding.  Why hadn’t things change between them the moment he had returned to the flat?  

He couldn't figure it out.  He had given Sherlock signals, of course he wasn't blatantly obvious, he knew Sherlock didn't approve of the sentiment, but he thought if he built the subtlety up little by little, Sherlock would finally realise how John felt about him.   Maybe that's what had already happened.  Sherlock had realised and was just being polite to John by not saying anything - not wanting to hurt John's feelings.  John knew that Sherlock valued their friendship above all and friendship was definitely much different than an actual relationship.  But then when Victor had approached them and started conversing with Sherlock, basically ignoring John, John saw a whole new side to Sherlock.  He saw Sherlock's demeanour soften, soften in such a way that had never happened with John.  

The screeching tires of a cab finally pulled John out of his head.  He glanced at his watch.  Almost an hour had passed since he had left Angelo's and he noticed that his leg was bothering him again.  Wonderful.  Sherlock would no doubt notice and have some snide remark.  He figured Sherlock was likely not home yet and decided he would head home himself and retire to his room for the evening.  He really didn't fancy having to have any kind of conversation with Sherlock at the moment, so if he could beat him home and get to bed before Sherlock arrived back at the flat then he wouldn't have to deal with Sherlock until at least tomorrow.

He turned and made his way back to Baker Street.  By the time he had reached the stoop, he was fully limping and he was cursing himself for not taking a cab.  No matter, he was going straight to bed anyway.  He let himself in quietly, trying not to disturb Mrs. Hudson if she was still home, and trudged all the way up to his room, not even bothering to stop and check if Sherlock was home yet.

He was still awake when Sherlock entered the flat a bit later and called out for him.  He turned on his side, ignoring the call and feigning sleep.  Hopefully Sherlock would take the hint and leave him alone.

 

Nothing but silence greeted him when Sherlock came home. John was at home. His coat was on the rack and when Sherlock glanced upstairs, the door to John’s room was shut. He normally left it open to air it out when he wasn’t there. Sherlock opened his mouth to call out again, but then he remembered the way John had left them.

Something was wrong. Perhaps…

Sherlock frowned and turned to his own bedroom, his mind racing. Ever since John came back, he was extra careful to not antagonize John. He wouldn’t risk John leaving again. So the violin was out – John wouldn’t appreciate a disturbance of his sleep.

He paced his room, trying to sort his thought. Seeing Victor again, so suddenly, and John’s reaction… it rattled him. He and Victor hadn’t parted on good terms exactly, but Victor seemed to have moved passed it based on his reaction. But why had John reacted so… jealous? Had it been jealousy? Why? It didn’t make sense. John wasn’t gay – he had reminded everyone of that little fact often enough. Was it the presence of someone of his past? But why would John be upset about that?

Sherlock spent the entire night, remembering what had happened between him and Victor and trying to make sense of John’s reaction. When he heard John moving upstairs, Sherlock moved to the kitchen. He couldn’t allow John avoiding him. He needed data. He needed to understand.

Some breakfast.

John would appreciate that, wouldn’t he? Make him open up, perhaps.  

John was on his way downstairs – small steps. Hesitant? Tired? Limping…limping? Why?! Sherlock was about to go to him to see what was going on with his flatmate when Sherlock heard his phone go off. A text. Lestrade? A case would be a welcome distracting right now.

But it wasn’t the DI. It was Victor.

_Found your number on your website. Hope you don’t mind. It really was great to see you again. Would you be interested in dinner?_

To the point. Victor had always been like that. He knew Sherlock didn’t appreciate the vague insinuations people tend to make in these situations. Sherlock could see this for what it was. Dinner. With Victor Trevor. A date. Sherlock took a deep breath and put the phone away when John appeared in the living room. 

'I made tea,' he said as greeting. 

 

‘Mmmm,’  John acknowledged as he sunk into his chair.  He hadn't really slept last night, plus his leg pained him in just the short trip down the stairs and in to the chair.  Thanks be to the gods that he had the day off from the surgery.  Well this was just great, he knew there was no way Sherlock hadn't noticed that his limp returned so he sat there trying to figure out what he could say that would plausibly explain it -  _well other than your ex-boyfriend, I’m fine, but him showing up seems to have completely shown me I was wrong about you and I should have just told you out right how I felt when I came home, but obviously you don't see me that way or see us in that way, so actually it's probably better for me to have found out this way rather than making more of a fool of myself._

John didn't even bother rising from his chair to join Sherlock in the kitchen who appeared to be making breakfast.  Why was Sherlock making breakfast?  This was certainly not something he expected.  He must have had a particularly busy evening after John had departed him and Victor if he was making something to eat.  John sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose as he leaned back into the chair further, wishing it would just swallow him up.  He was trying so hard not to think of Victor's intrusion in his life with Sherlock, much less think of Victor with Sherlock - the thoughts were just too unpleasant, yet they plagued him and they had ever since Sherlock introduced him.  And come to think of it was strange how Sherlock had worded old acquaintance - more like he was questioning it, but that was Sherlock for you.  He wasn't really one to share anything of a personal nature, but he had been getting better at it, at least towards John.  Not that it mattered anymore, because things were different now, they were shifting; John could feel it and he didn't like it one bit.

 

Sherlock tried to ignore the tension in the room as he worked in the kitchen. Silently he placed John's food on a plate and set it in front of John. 

He hesitate a moment, glancing at John. 

He hadn't slept. That was obvious. And Sherlock had been right about the limp. But why? None of this made any sense. 

'John...' Sherlock started but he hesitated a moment. He straightened his back to gain back some sense of control. 'I apologise for last night.' He frowned a little. Somehow he suspected that John wanted to hear an apology but he had no idea why. Victor's appearance had been a surprise and neither of them had requested John to leave. 'Victor's appearance took me by surprise. Last I heard he was in India.'  
  
Sherlock sat down in his own chair, a mug of tea in his own hand. He'd eaten yesterday so he wasn't hungry right now. To be completely fair, the tightness in his stomach would hardly allow to eat. He needed to fix this, whatever this was.

 

John lifted his head and regarded Sherlock's actions and words.  What the hell was going on?  The food was for John?  Well this certainly wasn't adding up and why the hell was Sherlock apologising?  He watched curiously as Sherlock sat there and held his tea calmly, seeming indifferent to everything.  That just fueled the confusion and anger growing inside of John.  And before he could stop himself, hurtful words were flying out of his mouth. 

‘Why all this sudden fuss over breakfast?’  He groused.  He wasn't even really interested in an explanation.  In fact, he wasn't even hungry and the walls felt like they were closing in on him again just like last night.  Just the mere mention of Victor's name did that to him.  He needed air, he needed to get the hell out of the flat before he started yelling at Sherlock for no good reason other than the fact that he was jealous and hurt.  Before he knew it, he was on his feet, grabbing his coat from the hook and out the door and halfway down the stairs before Sherlock could even react.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's POV

Sherlock was so in shock and surprised by John's sudden outburst that he was too late to retort. The loud bang of the front door being thrown shut made him wince and with a trembling hand he sat down his mug.  
  
Sherlock had been sure that the tea and food would calm John down. Why was he angry with him? He tried! Lord knew he tried to keep John happy and - more selfishly - at Baker Street. But he had been wrong. Where had he gone wrong?

He stayed frozen in his chair for a moment before pulling out his phone again. Sherlock contemplated texting John, but what should and could he say? He'd clearly done something wrong but he had no idea what is was. Instead his eye turned to Victor's number.   
  
Dinner. Could he? For old times’ sake. Remembering. Clearing the air maybe. Perhaps Victor could shed some light on all this. He always had been more adept at understanding people's motivations and emotions.   
Sherlock hesitated for a moment before texting Victor, agreeing to meet and when Victor responded almost immediately, he sighed deeply. Without John here with him, his mind felt chaotic. He couldn't lose him to whatever was going on.   
  
Sherlock opened a new text to John contemplating his words carefully.   
  
_I am sorry if I have offended you in any way. It was not my intention. Lestrade has called for a case. Will you come?_ \- SH  
   
It was a lie but right now Sherlock would take on any boring case the DI had to offer if that meant John would come back.

 

John took his time responding to Sherlock's text and Sherlock couldn't get to his phone fast enough when it finally did chime. Sherlock stared at the short message John had sent him. 

_No_

Two letters and Sherlock could feel them hammer in his chest. John never refused a case. That was one of the things that bound them together. And now...  
  
With a snarl he put away his phone, ruffling his hair in frustration. This was wrong, this was all wrong. Ever since Victor showed up.

He had seen an old friend - and an ex - and greeted him. He had agreed to meet again. Why was Sherlock in the wrong? He had watched John do the exact same thing. Over and over again. And he had accepted John's divided attention. Yet now, John was pushing him away, violently. 

 _So why was John acting like I did something wrong?_  
  
_I need a smoke!_  
  
Sherlock ignored Mrs. Hudson's chattering as he ran down the stairs and grabbed his coat. Collar turned up to hide his face, he set out to the streets, unaware that several camera's were watching his every move. 

~~

Mycroft frowned as he watched his little brother practically bully his way through the crowds. Anthea had just told him of the run in with Victor Trevor the night before and already things were unravelling.

Mycroft didn't like Trevor. More to the point, he didn't like the influence the man had on Sherlock. And John was too absorbed in his own jealously to see the warning signs. 

'Anthea!'

'Yes sir?'

'Get me a car. I need to talk to Dr. Watson. Keep an eye on my brother.'

'Yes sir.'

~~

Sherlock walked. And walked. He ignored the cries of protests from anyone who he bumped into. He needed to get away for a while. Clear his head. He needed... _God dammit why the hell have I let John convince me to buy off every single store who sold cigarettes?!_  
  
With a snarl he left yet another store to continue walking. There had to be somewhere he could go to. Somewhere who would help...  
  
He froze as the events of last night suddenly came back into view. Victor, leaning close, a brush of lips on his cheek. The smell. So distinctly Victor. His aftershave - still the same after all the years - the hint of tobacco on his breath. Victor. He still smoked.   
  
Sherlock took a deep breath. It would probably not be wise to go to him right now. Not while his head was so cluttered with these feelings and confusion he had spent years trying to lock away. But he needed to think. And John wasn't here so...  
  
He pulled out his phone typing out a text to Victor before he could change his mind.   
  
_Where are you staying?_ \- SH  
  
The reply came nearly instantaneous and included an address. Fifteen minute walk from here. Good!   
  
Sherlock set out, phone still in hand and he ignored the buzzing. Probably Victor again, asking what was wrong. That could wait. Sherlock knew that Victor would understand he was on his way. 

 

Victor barely had time to open the front door before Sherlock burst into his flat.   He didn't have to search long - the smell of smoke lingered in the air and the ashtray still contained a burning cigarette. The packet was right next to it.   
  
Without even a glance back to Victor he grabbed one and lit it, inhaling the smoke deeply into his lungs. _Oh yes...much better!_

Two more drags was enough for his mind to settle long enough to take in his surroundings.   
  
The flat was tidy, crisp and modern. No sentimental cluttering. No pictures. A living accommodation. Nothing more.   
  
'Well, I see you haven't changed all that much.' Victor's voice sounded vaguely amused and Sherlock turned slowly to him. A soft smile lingered on Victor's lips as he regarded him before taking his own already lit cigarette from the ashtray.

'Victor, I'm...'

'Oh hush, Will, we discussed this already, remember?'   
  
_Anything you need, William,_ he had said once. Whether it was cigarettes, or the feeling of his skin against his or the high because his brain wouldn't let him rest... Anything. Apparently that hadn't changed.   
  
'It's Sherlock, actually,' Sherlock heard himself say. He was more in control now, no longer surprised by Victor's return to London and to his life.   
  
Victor rose his eyebrow. 'Yeah, I saw something like that on the website. Surely...'

'Sherlock.'

Victor said nothing, staring at him with a calculating look before nodding. 'So, why are you here?'

Sherlock lifted the cigarette to Victor's face before taking another drag.   
  
'Yeah I can see that, but why?' 

 _Damn him! Damn him to Hell and back. Of course he bloody remembers_. Sherlock thought to himself, frowning. Even back then he never smoked unless there was a reason to. A dilemma. Frustration. Never just because. Victor knew something was wrong. He knew he was having the upper hand before Sherlock even realised they were playing.  
  
Victor moved closer to him, concern hinting in his eyes and Sherlock found himself unable to move away.

'Why are you here?' Sherlock asked and Victor tilted his head a little.

'Business.'

'And yesterday?'

'Dinner reservations. I heard it was a lovely place.'

'Oh please,' Sherlock scoffed. 'Thousands of restaurants in London, not to mention dozens significantly closer to your flat and you expect me to believe that you showing up at Angelo's was a coincidence?'   
  
Victor stayed silent for a moment before sighing deeply. 'I wanted to see you. I...took my chances going there, hoping I would run into you. We didn't end things well, Sherlock. I wanted to clear the air.' 

Sherlock took a deep breath, suddenly unable to look Victor in the eye after that confession. They hadn't parted on good terms. And that was putting it mildly. So for Victor to suddenly turn up...  


Sherlock's phone buzzed in his pocket and this time he did fetch it.

It was John.

John was apologising. Lunch. He took a deep breath, very aware that Victor was close enough to read along. 

'I thought you said...'

'We're not!' Sherlock bit out the words. What the hell had he been thinking, coming here? This was a mistake. 'He's just...John.'  
  
Sherlock could practically feel Victor's knowing gaze on him. But he didn't say anything. Victor moved away, grabbed the pack of smokes of the table and threw it to Sherlock. 'Here. Go have lunch.  I'll pick you up tonight.'  
  
For a moment they stayed like that, silent, observing each other, before Sherlock put the cigarettes in his coat and left as quickly as he came, phone still in hand.   
  
_I'm fine. On my way home. Apology accepted._ \- SH 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John's POV coming soon...


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's POV

John felt his phone vibrating in his pocket and he almost didn't answer it.  Almost.  He knew he had to at least check.  Just because he received a message, it didn't mean it was from Sherlock, but when he checked, it was.

Of course it was, who else would it be from?  He rarely talked to anyone else these days, by his own choice admittedly, but still.  He moved off to the side of the walk out of everyone's way while he looked at the screen and contemplated what to say.

He stared at the screen for several long minutes trying to decide how to answer.  Was it likely that Lestrade had another case worthy of Sherlock's attention so quickly, or was it just a ruse to get him to return to 221b?  He could text Lestrade to find out, but that would just raise too many questions.  Christ, this was not how he intended things to go this morning.  He had really hope that last night's run in with Victor wouldn't be mentioned, but John couldn't let go of it.  John's mind twisted it so everything would relate to Victor, even if it didn't.  Christ, the more he stood there and went over things in his head, the more pissed he got at himself, and he still needed to answer Sherlock back.

 _Not a good idea_  he typed out before deleting.   _No, busy_.  Deleted that one as well.   _Not interested_.  That was an outright lie.  Should he go with the truth?   _You've hurt me deeply and I just can't be with you right now_.  His fingers hovered over the keyboard frozen.  In the end he opted for one word - NO.  He really didn't need to explain himself to Sherlock.  He was an adult for chrissakes.  He had the right to say no without any explanation.   

After he sent the text, he looked to see where he was.  He decided to duck into the little pub on the corner.  He could use some breakfast (which was really mean because Sherlock had gone to the trouble of making him breakfast - his favourite even) and his leg really hurt.  Plus he could use a pint, he didn't care if it was barely nine in the morning.

 

John wasn't really paying attention to the goings on around him but he did feel a shift in the atmosphere as Mycroft Holmes entered the pub.  True, there weren't many people there at half past nine, but John knew that Mycroft's presence always commanded the attention of everyone present, it didn't matter if the room held a hundred or ten.  As soon as he heard the pub go silent, he looked up from his plate and rolled his eyes.  He hunched into himself as Mycroft pulled the chair out and joined John at the table.

'Not interested.' John blurted out before Mycroft could even say a word.

'Oh yes you are, even as you sit there denying it.  We both know you've spent last night and all of the morning trying to figure out exactly what Victor Trevor means to my brother.  And you're just in luck, because I'm here to tell you exactly what you need to know.  Victor Trevor is nothing but trouble for my brother.  Sure, he may be suave and debonair and all these things  ** _you_**  think Sherlock wants, but I can assure you it's not what Sherlock really wants.  Victor Trevor is nothing more than a nuisance, and he will end up doing nothing but crushing Sherlock's fragile heart and I will not allow it.  It was bad enough the first time with Victor, and it was even worse if you can imagine, when you left 221b.  I've invested too much time trying to get things back to normal in Sherlock's life to let the likes of Victor Trevor swoop in and ruin it all.'

John had put his fork down and looked up at Mycroft.  He had heard every word Mycroft had said, but he couldn't quite wrap his head around their meaning.  Was Mycroft actually implying that Sherlock was interested in pursuing something more with John?  Well that sure didn't add up.  Obviously Mycroft was wrong about that.  If he thought John was going to take relationship/love advice from someone like him, he was mistaken.  What the hell was it with the Holmes' brothers?  They were two men that placed themselves above emotions, but they were the first to tell you how you should be feeling and what you should be doing about it.

 

John snorted.  He began to see what was going on here.  It was quite clear, why he had even allowed himself two minutes to think that what Mycroft was saying about Sherlock being interested in him, well it was just wishful thinking.  Mycroft didn't like Victor.  It was plain and simple.  He wanted rid of Victor and he wanted someone to do it for him so it wouldn't further damage his already strained relationship with his brother.

'Mycroft find someone else to do your dirty work for you, I already told you I'm not interested.  I'm not meddling in Sherlock's private affairs.'

'John are you really willing to let your jealousy get the best of you?  It's true I could take care of Victor in a manner of minutes, but you are correct in your assumptions.  I do not wish to further compound the strained relationship with my brother.  I was seeking your assistance because he will listen to you whereas he will not listen to anyone else, except for maybe Victor right now.  And if you don't intervene now then I'm afraid of what Victor may talk him into.  Victor Trevor was always trouble and I paid a heavy price the first time I removed him from Sherlock's life.  I almost lost him.  I do not wish to relive that.  John, he will listen to you, and even if you don't believe me, he does care for you - **_deeply_**.  John, he trusts you like he has never trust anyone else before - including Victor.  Don't let him settle for Victor.'

'Why do you assume he's settling?  His interest was pretty evident last night I can assure you.  And more than that, you and I both know Sherlock never settles for anything or anyone.  He's not like that.'  John retorted.

'Are you really that blind John Watson?  I had thought that it was jealousy blinding you, but you really don't see it do you?'  Mycroft stood and straightened his jacket.  'I know you have no reason to believe me and I know you think I try to spoil everything my brother does or cares about, but that's simply not true.  I'm trying to protect him, most of the time it's from himself but other times it's from people like James Moriarty or Victor Trevor.   I know you don't believe  ** _anything_  **I've said here today, but please, just keep him away from Victor, it won't turn out good for anyone involved if he gets tangled up with that man again.'  With that, Mycroft turned and left the pub in silence, not even waiting to see if John would answer him.

John pushed his plate back and looked at his drink that he had barely touched.  That was unusual he thought, that Mycroft hadn’t even said anything demeaning about his choice of beverage this early in the morning.  In fact the whole conversation had been just plain odd.  He wasn't quite sure what to do now.  Yes, he wanted rid of Victor.  He just didn't like Victor and it wasn't because Victor was stealing Sherlock's attention from John, John just didn't trust him.  There was something there, he just couldn't put his finger on what it was.

He took his phone out of his pocket and frowned.  No messages.  Sherlock hadn't even tried to persuade him to change his mind about the case, so that meant there probably wasn't one.  He really was acting like a jealous fool, he quickly typed a message out and pressed send, hoping Sherlock hadn't already sought Victor out after John's blatant rejection.

_Sorry I've been such an arse.  It's me, not you.  Lunch?  Please?_

 

John paid, leaving his breakfast unfinished and his pint basically untouched.  He left a nicer tip than usual for the bother and the inconvenience of Mycroft.  He probably had men outside the pub barring other patrons until he left since he hadn't seen any enter.  John quietly left the pub and made his way towards Baker Street.  His leg had begun feeling a bit better, but not that much considering he was still limping. So he took his time and replayed Mycroft's words over in his mind.  'Don't let him settle for Victor.'  What the hell did that mean exactly?  It was pretty clear that Sherlock was plenty interested in Victor from what John witnessed last night.  How did Mycroft construe that as settling?  There was no one else that Sherlock's showed the slightest bit of interest in so there was no one to reject his attentions.  So who was Mycroft talking about?  John would surely know if Sherlock was interested in someone else, wouldn't he?  I mean they spent damn near every moment together, well up until last night and there was no one else.  It was just him and Sherlock, and well, he knew how Sherlock felt about him - not  ** _that_**  way.  Still, half of what Mycroft said didn't make sense.  Who the hell was this mystery person, well it didn't matter did it, anyone had to be better than Victor.  He would deal with that when the time came, but now he had to focus on making sure Victor didn't worm his way into the picture any more than he already had.  He had to agree on that point, even if it meant siding with Mycroft.  He should have asked for more information so he knew exactly what kind of person Victor was, but he already had a pretty good idea.  Besides, he didn't really want any more specifics on the man than absolutely necessary.

He realised he had made it all the way back to Baker Street without a reply from Sherlock.  That was odd.  Maybe there really was a case, which would explain the silence, or Sherlock's really pissed at him and trying to prove a point.  He typed out another text...

_Look, I know I've been a dick and hurt your feelings after you apologised for something that wasn't your fault.  I'm sorry.  At least answer me, please.  Let me know you're ok so I don't worry._

His finger hesitated over the send button, wondering if this was too sentimental.  Sod it, it couldn't make anything worse could it?  He tapped the send button.

The reply was almost instantaneous: 

 _I'm fine. On my way home. Apology accepted._ \- SH 

 


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things turn from bad to worse

John let out a sigh of relief. At least Sherlock was fine and on his way home.  John wondered where had Sherlock had run off to, but decided in the end that it didn't matter.  Now, he had to figure out the best way to close the rift that was starting to form between them and keep Sherlock the hell away from Victor without it seeming like that's what he was trying to do. 

He wasn't sure how long it would take Sherlock to get home so he took stock of the state of the flat.  Sherlock must have left right after John had stormed out, the breakfast Sherlock had made him still sat on the end table next to the untouched mug of tea.  John began to feel guilty and gathered the dishes and brought them to the kitchen to clean.  By the time he finished cleaning them, he heard Sherlock on the stairs, and just like that he was through the door and draping his coat over the back of his chair before joining John in the kitchen.  

John could smell the smoke wafting off him, but chose not to say anything, in fact he understood why Sherlock probably needed the nicotine - not that it made it acceptable.  So that's where he went.  He blithely wondered how far he had to go to find that cigarette and then wondered if he thought it was worth it.  No matter, there were other things that were more pressing.

Sherlock kept his hands in his trouser pockets to hide his twitching fingers. The tension in the flat was nearly unbearable. When had this happened? And more importantly, why? This needed to be resolved. And quickly.

John had cleaned the flat, but he hadn’t been back long. Sherlock could smell whatever pub he had been to on his clothes. Pub, this early in the morning. That didn’t bode well for John’s mental state.

 

'So...' 

John’s voice interrupted his own thoughts. John sounded nervous, unsure.

Sherlock took a deep breath. ‘I didn’t mean to offend you in any way John,’ he started. John had been angry with him, so surely he must have been at fault somewhere. ‘Victor’s presence surprised me. I haven’t seen him in over ten years. He’s just…’ What exactly had Victor been? A friend? Sherlock didn’t think their relationship deserved the label of friendship. Not the way he was friends with John or even Lestrade. They had been useful to each other. Mutual satisfaction that had been the base of their relationship. Sherlock cleared his throat. ‘I simply do not understand, John. Your reaction, it…surprised me.’ 

Sherlock hated admitting he didn’t understand something, especially something that clearly was important to John.  

 

John pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath.  

‘Sherlock, please don't apologise for the fact that I wronged you.  I should be the one apologising to you.’  He walked towards Sherlock and ushered him towards their chairs.  He needed to sit, while his leg was feeling slightly better, it still pained him after all the walking and the standing while he quickly did the dishes.  

Sherlock looked at John, baffled by his words.  ’Why...’

John shushed him as he took his seat, sighing in relief as he settled in his chair.

‘Let me see if I can explain and yes, I do need to apologise.’  He smiled knowing that's exactly what Sherlock was asking.  God, why were things so complicated between them?  Why couldn't Sherlock just love him the way that he loved Sherlock?  Christ, what the hell was he supposed to say?  He hadn't even given that a thought, knowing that Sherlock deserved an explanation.

‘Look Sherlock, I don't quite understand it myself.  It's just I felt like I was in the way last night after  ** _he_**  showed up.  I know I shouldn't have reacted that way and it was wrong of me.  I'm sorry.’

 

Sherlock frowned. ‘In the way…you…I was merely surprised at seeing him. I didn’t mean for you to feel that way.’

Sherlock looked down for a moment, before collecting himself. Why would John feel like that? It made no sense what so ever. But he could fix this, right? If John didn’t want to see Victor, for whatever reason, he could do that, couldn’t he? If that meant that things would turn back to normal, then he would do it. Everything for John Watson. 

‘I’ll make sure he won’t be much around you if you don’t want,’ Sherlock conceded. ‘To be honest, I don’t expect to see him that often myself. We didn’t part on…good terms, if you can call it that. He has asked me to come to dinner with him tonight, to clear the air. After that…I’ll imagine we’ll go our separate ways.’ 

They stayed silent for a moment and Sherlock tried to resist grabbing inside his coat to grab the cigarettes. John wouldn’t approve, no matter how desperate Sherlock was right now. There was still one question he needed to know the answer to, however and it was out before Sherlock could think it over.

‘Why don’t you like him though? Victor? You didn’t know who he was, you just…’ Sherlock waved his hand when he couldn’t find the words. ‘You got defensive.’

 

John scowled at Sherlock reiterating his words and winced when Sherlock mentioned he was joining Victor for dinner that evening.  Well, John definitely needed to disrupt those plans.  He could do that and not feel guilty about it right?  How many times had Sherlock done it to him in the past when he had gone out on dates?  John felt terrible for even thinking that, maybe he should let Sherlock seek the closure he was after.  It did seem that was all Sherlock wanted from what he said, clear the air and then go their separate ways.  What would be the harm in that?  Still he didn't trust Victor, especially after Mycroft's visit, and he still had yet to answer Sherlock's last question.

‘I don't know why I acted that way Sherlock, I just...it just didn't feel right.  Yes, I don't know him, but something just makes me feel like he.... well maybe, he isn't the best influence on you.’  There he said it.  And just to reinforce it, ‘I mean you said yourself you didn't part on good terms, so I just assumed that's why.’

 

Sherlock turned his gaze to John, frowning. 'You didn't know that last night,' Sherlock noted. 'You acted strongly against him the moment you met him.' Sherlock went over John's choice of words in his mind. Not the best influence? What the hell did John mean by that?  
  
As if he was reading a map, he went over today's event in his mind. John had left for the pub after his departure from the flat. He sometimes did that, but usually he stayed away longer that he had today - he had been home already when Sherlock came back. And John never texted him to apologise during those times! Normally it required at least a week of an experiment-free kitchen and a decent case to fall back into their old rhythm. Why the change in routine now? 

What was different?   
  
Victor had turned up. That was obvious enough. But why...oh. Sherlock's eyes widened in realisation and his stomach twisted in anger. 

 _Not a good influence._ He had heard those words before in regards to Victor and they had been wrong then as well.   
Of course Mycroft would stick his fat nose in his business the moment Victor Trevor was mentioned. But for him to use John like that...  
  
Sherlock narrowed his eyes, not bothering to hide his glare at John. 'Whatever my meddlesome brother told you, I can assure you that he is wrong. Why do you assume it was due to his actions that we drifted apart? Surely I don't need to remind you I'm not the easiest man to be around with. Victor left me and with good reason.'   
  
At least, that's what he told himself. He just hadn't been able to keep his mouth shut. He demanded too much, needed too much.  
   
_You're too much, William!_  
  
Victor's last words to him hit him like a hammer and he suddenly felt sick. This was all wrong. Damn Mycroft! 

 

Damn it to hell!  John should have chosen his words more carefully and not used Mycroft's exact words.  He should have known Sherlock would have seen right through it.  Now what should he do?  Just come clean?  It really couldn't get any worse, could it?

‘So what if I talked to Mycroft?' John defended himself. 'Just to be clear though, Mycroft did the talking, but he is concerned about you.  Which normally, I would have a hard time believing, but I tend to agree with him.  I don't like Victor, ok?  I don't know why, I can't explain it, I just don't like him.  Just like you have never liked any of my old girlfriends, it's the same thing, you never knew any of them but you always disliked them,’ he huffed out angrily.  He was teetering on the edge of admitting his jealousy but why bother, it wouldn't change anything.  He sucked in a quick breath and continued before he lost his nerve.  ’And why does it matter how I feel about him anyway?’

 

 _Oh this was_...he couldn't believe Mycroft had managed to convince John to do his dirty work for him.   
'Neither one of you have any reason to be concerned,' Sherlock snarled. 'Not them and certainly not now. And the reason I didn't like the women you dated was for the simple fact that they were idiots. Don't even argue; you know I'm right.'   
  
Sherlock rose from his seat, itching to smoke. Or shoot something. Preferably both. But he refrained from doing either. Instead he lashed out again, defending himself from the sickening feeling that it was all falling apart. 'You're right, John. Why should it matter what you think of him? You never cared much for my opinion either.'  
  
With long strides he moved to his bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him with as much force as he could muster. He could hear Mrs. Hudson protesting from downstairs but he ignored it. He couldn't believe this was happening.

After everything he had done for John during these past years, he had the nerve to side with Mycroft on a matter he knew nothing about. He'd endured those tedious girlfriends, he had stood by as John married, remained at his side after being shot by said wife, let him back in here after her disappearance and during the first sight of someone of Sherlock's past, John barely took the time to listen to him. He already had his judgment formed on nothing more than a hunch - which, frankly, hadn't served him well in the past - and Mycroft's meddling.   
Instead of letting Sherlock explain.   
  
Sherlock sank down on his bed, suddenly exhausted. God dammit. He was tired. Tired of bending himself in impossible corners to please John, to keep him close. If he could not have John like he wanted, at least he could have tried this. But this was too much. He was tired of lying to himself and to John. 

Sherlock found himself suddenly looking forward to dinner that evening. Victor knew. He knew him. Perhaps he just needed one evening where he didn't have to lie.


	6. Chapter Six

John slumped forward in his chair, letting his head fall into his hands.  How in the hell had trying to  close the rift between them turn into this - John wanting to shrink into his chair and Sherlock storming out of the room and slamming the door?  What should he do now?  Damn it he was stuck, if he came clean and told Sherlock the truth, he would probably have to move out of the flat and if he let Sherlock go to dinner with Victor, then he risked losing Sherlock to Victor and he couldn't have that.  Shit, how was he supposed to tell Sherlock that it wasn't Victor, that John would dislike anyone that took Sherlock's attentions away from him.

John raked his fingers through his hair.  Damn it why did Sherlock have to be so obstinate when it came to anything associated with Mycroft?  Why was John placing the blame on Mycroft for this mess?  It wasn't his fault, it was much easier than placing the blame where it belonged.  With himself.  What was it Mycroft had said though?

' ** _Are you really that blind John Watson?  I had thought that it was jealousy blinding you, but you really don't see it do you?_**

 _What is it that I'm missing?_ John thought to himself.

John stood and started pacing. Christ he wanted to hit something or someone; he couldn't decide which. This was so infuriating! John weighed his options as he paced.   _Fuck it,_ he thought.  

He strode down the hallway to Sherlock's room and pounded on the door.  "Sherlock, I wasn't done discussing this, can we please just start over?  I'm sorry, this is not how I meant for us to go."  John inhaled deeply. **_US?!_** Shit now, what, where did that come from?  Sherlock would be sure to notice that slip.  Just don't call attention to it, he told himself, you can pass it off as a misunderstanding - sound does distort through object, thank god for closed doors.

No response.

‘Sherlock, please answer me,’ John finally requested after five minutes of silence.  When another ten had ticked by, he turned and trudged to his chair in the sitting room.  He would just have to wait Sherlock out.  Eventually he would have to reemerge for dinner with Victor and John would try to change his mind then.  He just had to think of something until then.  He slouched in the chair and stretched his leg out then he let his head fall back to rest on the top of the chair.  He covered his face with his hands and let out a sigh of frustration. Christ, how was he going to fix this?

He couldn't exactly ask for anybody's advice, I mean really what the hell would he say? Where would he even begin?  John let his eyes slide shut as the thoughts in his head became too much to bear.  He was exhausted from everything going on and his leg was killing him. He told himself a short rest would help clear his mind up, well at least help him to feel less cranky so he allowed himself to drift off for a bit, push this nonsense with Sherlock and Victor out of his mind. They could talk after he woke when they both had time to cool off.

It only took moments for sleep to take John. He must have been more tired than he thought, but drifting off into the abyss of sleep was nice and Sherlock was there, just sitting there observing John.  But things didn't stay nice for very long. Sherlock stood and made his way towards John and John rose to meet him but Sherlock pushed him back down into the chair.  He had this wicked grin on his face and his eyes were dark and he laughed maliciously. Sherlock crawled onto the chair and straddled him, teasing John and laughing. John tried to reach out for Sherlock but Sherlock caught his wrists and pinned them at his sides.  He leaned forward so he was at John's ear.

_‘No touching Dr. Watson.  I'm not yours to touch.  You've made it abundantly clear that you're not gay and we're just acquaintances. Why on Earth do you think I would want someone like you anyway?  Especially when I can have someone like **HIM**.’_

Victor seemed to materialise out of nowhere, his hands all over Sherlock, who still happened to be on top of John.

 _‘Yes.’_ Victor purred.  _’Why would Sherlock want someone like you when he has me?’_  With that, Sherlock turned his head so he could capture Victor's mouth and John abruptly jerked forward and awake. John's chest was heaving and he was soaked with sweat.  He glanced around the room taking in his surroundings and noticed Sherlock's coat still slung over the back of his chair.  _Aw good, Sherlock is still here then._  He glanced at his watch finding that two hours had passed already.  

That was odd, it didn't seem like he had been asleep that long but he wasn't about to argue, especially not after the nightmare he was having. John cleared his throat and stood. His leg was sore and he was an absolute mess, but he needed to sort things with Sherlock.

John limped back to Sherlock's door and knocked softly.  ’Sherlock?’

He waited a few moments, no answer.  He knocked again, still no sound.  Screw it, Sherlock was going to hear what he had to say.  

 

John needn't had worried; Sherlock had thrown open the window and slid down the drain before his flatmate had even begun banging on his door. He needed to get out of there. He needed to do something to distract himself, to dissolve the anger pooling in his gut.   
  
Molly. She would help him. Lestrade would call John if he showed up at the Yard and that was just the one thing he wanted to avoid. Molly would heed his request to keep his location a secret. For now. If Mycroft didn't meddle again.

 

 _Damn him!_ John thought to himself.  He began to wonder how long Sherlock had been gone.  Probably since right after slamming the door shut.  Well this was just bloody fantastic.  We hobbled back into the room to his chair and sat.  If Sherlock left without his coat that meant his phone was likely still here.  He got up and searched the pockets of the belstaff.  Yes, there was the phone and a pack of cigarettes?  He pulled it out and examined it.  The pack was definitely high end and definitely not a brand that John had ever seen in any of the store Sherlock usually frequented which meant they were likely from someone who had been travelling recently, someone like Victor.  And Sherlock had the nerve to accuse John of keeping his talk with Mycroft secret when Sherlock was hiding what must have been a visit with Victor this morning.

John's nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply, trying to calm himself down.  Maybe he was getting himself worked up for nothing.  He pulled Sherlock's phone out of the pocket and looked at it a moment.  He could check it, just to confirm what he already suspected, but what would that do, other than infuriate him more.  In the end, he decided not to invade Sherlock's privacy like that, he had already made a stupid mistake earlier and he sure as hell didn't need to accidentally blurt out anything he shouldn't know in a fight if he did find anything on the phone.  As he was putting the phone back though, it buzzed with a text.  He would have like to claim it being accidental, but he couldn't.  He turned the phone over to look at it.  It was a message from Victor.

_Hope your lunch with your whatever he is went well.  I'm sending a car by at 6 sharp, be ready and dressed to impress._

John's heart sunk.  He had already lost a battle he hadn't even been aware he was fighting.  He glanced at his watch.  It was a bit past four and if Sherlock was to be ready at 6, well he needed to know that Victor had sent him a text.  He could very well play dumb and erase any knowledge of the text from his mind, but he couldn't.  He couldn't be could like that. He thought for a couple moments as to the possible whereabouts of Sherlock and figured he must be at Bart's.  If he showed up at the Yard looking for work from Lestrade, Lestrade would have too many questions for him - namely why didn't Sherlock have his coat and where was John, so he must be with Molly.  He sighed heavily as he dropped the phone back and dug his own out of his pocket and brought up Molly's number and pressed send.

  
Sherlock felt awfully exposed without his coat and his phone but luckily he had no trouble hailing a cab to take him to Bart’s. Sherlock ignored the pointless comments of the cabbie on London traffic, letting it dissolve into white noise so he wouldn't have to listen to his own musings.   
  
Once in the lab, Molly didn't even dare ask him what was wrong. One look was all she needed to know he needed to be left alone. She really had become too good at reading him. But Sherlock didn't mind as much now. If that meant being spared from awkward questions, then he would gladly take it. 

He worked, vigorously, making up experiments on whatever body part he could get his hands on. Molly was watching him closely, but stayed silent and Sherlock felt once again thankful for her insight. Minutes, hours flew by, until there was nothing left of the anger he had felt that morning. Only the Work. The one thing that had never let him down. 

'Sherlock?' Molly sounded hesitant and Sherlock glanced up briefly. She looked worried. 'Is there anything I can do?'  
Oh sweet Molly...Sherlock still owed her for saving his life all those years ago. She had been willing to risk it all for him and here she was, ready to help yet again. 

'I'm fine, Molly, thank you. Bored, that was all.'

Sherlock knew Molly didn't believe him but she didn't call him out on it. Instead they worked, together, in silence until Molly's phone started buzzing. 

 

 _‘Hi Molly, it’s John,'_ John started. 'Of course you already know that from caller ID. Don't pay any mind to me.’

‘John,’ She began, causing Sherlock's head to snap up to regard her. On the phone - John must have realised he was out then. But John didn't let her say much and she barely had time to respond.

_‘Look Molly, can you do me a favour?’_

‘Sure.’

 _‘Can you please pass a message on to Sherlock?  Can you tell him that if he wants to make his dinner tonight, that there will be a car picking him up here at six.  Oh and tell him he'll have the flat to himself to get ready.  I have some things to do.  I'm on my way out now.  Thanks.’_   John hung up before she had a chance to ask any questions.

 

John walked over to the door and grabbed his coat and left the flat.  The least he could do was give Sherlock peace and quiet while he got ready since this dinner was obviously important to him.  Besides, John didn't think he could handle seeing Sherlock dressed to impress. His heart was already breaking, he didn't need to stick around to have it completely shattered.

 

'That was John...' Molly muttered, still staring at her phone with a frown and Sherlock rolled his eyes in annoyance. But before he could say anything, she continued. 'Said you'd be picked up by six and would have the flat to yourself until then. He needed to do something.'

Sherlock's heart stammered in his chest. John had fled again. And why would he feel the need to call? A glance at his watch told him enough. 

In a sudden flurry on movement, he jumped up to make his way to the door. 

'Sherlock!'

Molly's voice stopped him and he could hear her coming closer. 'What's going on?'

Sherlock hesitated for a moment but didn't dare to meet Molly's eyes. 'Moving on,' he whispered. And he left. 


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's POV

The flat was indeed quiet when Sherlock came home. His coat had moved slightly and with a few long strides he collected his phone from its pocket. There was no way of telling which messages John had seen but he must have read some. How would he know what time he would picked up?

At least the cigarettes were still there.  
  
Sherlock checked the entire flat for John's presence, briefly wondering where the other man might have gone, but time was not on his side. He needed to get ready.   
  
Ten minutes for six, Sherlock was ready. Freshly showered, curls a bit more tamed than usual, shaved and dressed in one of his more expensive suits and shoes, he waited, trying to get John from his mind. How often had Sherlock watched John so this? Dress up, come home late, or not at all - those were the worst nights. Yet now John wouldn't allow his this. All because bloody Mycroft had felt the need to intervene again.   
  
A single honk alerted him to the time and he stood up, grabbed his coat and dashed downstairs. Enough, he firmly told himself. He needed to move on from this. 

 

Sherlock was nervous when he entered the restaurant. It was posh, high-end and he felt his own posture change slightly to fit in to this environment. Victor had come from old money and he clearly still lived in his accustomed milieu. It wasn't difficult to spot Victor - one of the best tables in the house, with a clear view of the entrance - and when he saw Sherlock entering, his face lit up before beckoning him over. 

'I'm glad you could make, Sherlock,' Victor said, rising slightly in greeting as Sherlock took his place opposite of him. 

'I told you I would.'

Victor smiled at that. 'Yes, well, you're a busy man nowadays. Consulting detective. I'm pleased to see it worked out for you.'

Sherlock nodded silently at that and held his tongue when the waiter came to pour him and Victor their wine. 'I ordered for you, if you don't mind,' Victor explained as the man left their table alone again. 

'Rather presumptuous of you,' Sherlock clipped. Victor merely shrugged. 

'I know what you like, Sherlock.'

Sherlock stomach twisted at those words. Normally he would have been dragged his heels through the mud to disprove that, but Victor...well, he did know what he liked didn't he? They had spent years together. 

Their dinner was a quiet affair, filled with short conversations about their lives during their time apart. It wasn't when their tables had been cleared that a more sensitive subject came to light. 'I read about your suicide.'

Sherlock froze in his movements and broke eye contact. 'I...it was necessary at the time.'

Victor took a deep breath. 'Nearly came to the funeral, you know. Until I realised that your brother probably wouldn't be too pleased to see me.' 

The corner of Sherlock's lips lifted slightly at that. No, if his current behaviour was any indication, Mycroft surely wouldn't been happy to see him. 

'I read about it in the papers when you came back. That was...a very brave thing you did, Sherlock.'

Sherlock raised his eyes again, his breath suddenly leaving his lungs. Wasn't it strange that he only now heard the praise for his sacrifice? Sure, Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson had thanked him, but John...John had been so wrapped by his own anger and after that by his own marriage that he hadn't even bothered to ask him what he had done, nor suffered during those two years away. 'Like I said...it was necessary.' His own voice sounded a bit hoarse and he took a large gulp of his wine to cover it up. 

Victor changed the subject, sensing Sherlock's hesitation to talk about it, though the next wasn't exactly better.

'Did you and John managed to talk things over this afternoon?'

Sherlock only had to glare to bring across his point. 'He talked to Mycroft this morning.'

Victor took a deep breath, nodding to himself. 'Ah. Mycroft hasn't changed that much either, I see.'

'Not quite...'

 

The arrival of their desert broke off whatever Victor was going to respond to that and Sherlock took his time to observe both himself and his companion. It felt...nice, to be here with him like this again. They had both matured - they were both clean now - and whatever they discussed was done so calmly and to the point. No lying, no pretending. Victor knew him, knew every bit of him. He knew what lay beyond that cold mask Sherlock had built for himself and it was oddly refreshing. 

As their wine and their filled stomachs began to work, Victor didn't hesitate to initiate soft touches between them. A brush of fingers over the table, a foot pressed against his lower leg and Sherlock found himself craving the attention. It had been so long since he had been with someone. Since he had been touched outside of the parameters of a case. After his years of pining - Sherlock could at least admit it to himself - perhaps he was ready to move on. He could at least try. 

When Victor rose from his seat to use the restroom, Sherlock reached out and clasped Victor's long slender hand in his. The other man froze, pale eyes peering down on him. 'Will...'

His birth name didn't bother him now. Perhaps he would always stay William for Victor, no matter how hard he tried to move away from that. 'Victor, just...'

Victor licked his lips and a sense of triumph came over him. Victor wanted this as much as he did, no matter how much he would protest. 'I'm not an idiot, William. You and John...'

'John is not gay,' he hissed out. 'He doesn't...' Sherlock swallowed and tightened his hold on Victor. 'I'm done, Vic. Please...'

Victor seemed to hesitate for a moment more, before he gave a sharp nod. 'Stay here. I'll pay and then we'll leave.'

~~~~

 

Sherlock awoke to the sound of his phone ringing and with a grunt he tried to pick it up from his nightstand. Which wasn't there.

It took him a moment before he realised where he was and for the memories of the previous night to come back to him.

_Christ..._

He was alone in the bed, although he could hear Victor moving around in the kitchen, preparing breakfast. With a grunt he sat up.

Sherlock felt sore and heavy as he got out of bed, trying to find his phone amidst the hastily pulled off clothing on the floor.

When they had gotten to Victor's flat, they had wasted no time falling against each other. Sherlock had needed it. Victor's firm touch on him, marking him, claiming him completely as he entered him. They hadn't even made it to the bed the first time, still half dressed. Victor had led him to the bedroom afterwards, pulling their clothing completely away from their bodies before fucking him again. 

The phone kept ringing and finally Sherlock found it underneath Victor's button down.   
  
_Mycroft. Oh for God's sake..._  
  
With a snarl he refused the call and Victor appeared in the door opening that moment, dressed in nothing but a pair of sweatpants, two mugs of coffee in his hands. His hair was still tousled and Sherlock could see his eyes darkening at Sherlock's naked form. 'Shouldn't you get that?' he asked, sounding a bit bored. Sherlock put down his phone for good measure. 

'No one important.' 

He took the coffee as Victor led him back to the bed, letting his lips caress Sherlock's shoulder. His fingers were tracing some of the more prominent scars on his back - Sherlock had tried to hide them last night, but Victor had seen right through that. He hadn't asked, not with words at least, and Sherlock felt no obligation to tell him when or where he had gotten them. Victor could probably tell anyway.   
  
'You sure?' Victor asked, his voice suddenly deeper and Sherlock felt a shiver go through his body.

‘Shut up...' he hissed as he turned his head to kiss the words from Victor's lips. 

But the doorbell suddenly rang, causing the two men to groan in frustration. 'I'll get it,' Victor murmured. 'Might be someone from the office.'

Victor left the bedroom, leaving Sherlock alone and he was about to crawl into bed - it wasn't hard to deduce what Victor wanted - when he heard his brother's voice.   
  
Cold. Hateful and any lesser man would have backed away without a fight. Victor however, sounded awfully smug. 

'Take a hint Mycroft, William doesn't want to talk to you.'

'I'll believe that when I see him for myself.'

Sherlock hurried to get dressed - why he even bothered was a mystery. Victor's appearance alone would tell Mycroft everything. He rushed out of the bedroom, anger hot in his belly, ready to slam the door in his brother's face. Preferably against it.   
  
Mycroft merely raised an eyebrow at Sherlock's angry posture and Sherlock suddenly felt the need to punch him for good measure. Perhaps we would take the hint then. But a single sentence made his stomach clench and his fury dissolve.

'John's missing.'


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's POV

It was well past seven when John had decided to head back to the flat. He had spent the last few hours sitting in a coffee shop a few blocks from Baker Street. It was far as his weary legs would take him and he really had no inclination to sit in a pub, the desire to drink would be too overwhelming and he had a lot to think about.

Needless to say his head was a mess. He wasn't like Sherlock, he couldn't separate and categorise his feelings - decide what was important and what wasn't, so here he sat with a mess of thoughts rolling around in his head. He just wanted to forget. Go home and sleep it all away, but sleep would probably become elusive now, this afternoon's nightmare a clear indication of that.

 

He sighed and sipped his tea. Tea he should be having at home, with Sherlock, but that was the rub wasn't it. It was beginning to feel less and less like home. How had that happened in a span of about twenty four hours? Christ, what kind of hold did Victor have over Sherlock? He had never seen Sherlock willing to just drop everything for anyone else and just blindly follow. To be fair, Sherlock used to do that for him, but it wasn't the same. Nothing was the same anymore. He drained the rest of his mug and left the shop. It had gotten colder and he pulled his coat closed as he walked into the wind alone.

When he finally made it back to Baker Street, it occurred to him he would probably be visited by Mycroft sooner or later, wanting to know why he had let Sherlock run off with Victor like he had. That thought made him angry. He wasn't Mycroft's right hand. Damn it, the man was the British government, there was no reason he couldn't handle this himself. Hell, he could have Victor removed from the country if he wanted with just the snap of his fingers, so why was he relying on John to do all the work? None of this made any sense and quite honestly, John was rather sick of it. Sick of all the games and mystery when it came to dealing with the Holmes' Brothers.  He was just tired and was fairly certain he didn't want to deal with the mess of the situation that lay before him. Over the past months, it had become clear that he wasn't good at relationships in general, relationships of any kind. Hell, his longest commitment to any relationship had been the one he had with Sherlock. It was unconventional at most times but it worked, and now like everything else in his life, it was crumbling in front of his eyes because of stupid mistakes he had made.

He sighed into the empty flat.

God this was depressing.

Is this how Sherlock always felt when John went out?  Probably not, John argued with himself. Half the time he was never aware that John had left and the times he did, he either went along or found some way to bring his dates to a halting end. John smirked at the memories. Most of the time it had been a relief because he hadn't wanted to go on the dates in the first place. He had just wanted out of the flat because he was becoming too attached to spending all his time with Sherlock, but Sherlock didn't see him like that, so John played through the motions of going on dates. Everything was fine and then the Fall had happened and John's world disappeared. He had lost the only person that understood him inside and out. He didn't have to hide things from Sherlock (well except that he was in love with Sherlock). And then Sherlock came back and things, well things were a mess for a while, but that was his fault, not Sherlock's and they had made it through it. The past seven months since returning to Baker Street had been some of their best and everything was great until last night. And now it was glaringly clear that there was this other side to Sherlock. One he'd never seen, never imagined existed, but it did and apparently its want wants and desires and those wants and desires where not John.

John hung his head and let out a shaky breath. The walls were becoming oppressive and he felt trapped. This certainly wasn't how home was supposed to feel. But then, he guessed it wasn't really his home anymore. It wasn't that he was being over dramatic either. This was just how life with Sherlock was. Big and bold. He'd barley known the man fifteen minutes before agreeing to look at their flat together and shot a man to save Sherlock not even a day later. They had been through so much and weathered so much, but this, this one thing -person- showed up and changed everything. John didn't need to be a genius to see how things would unfold from here out, so with a heavy heart, he walked to the desk and found some paper and began to write. It took a while, but he finally got down on paper what he needed to, what he felt he owed Sherlock.

 

_Sherlock,_

_I know things have shifted in our dynamic. I'm not blind. And yes, it is my fault and I am truly sorry for that. I should have done things differently, said things differently, but alas, I cannot take any of it back.  All I can do is offer my apologies for not extending you the same courtesies you always extended to me. I guess I could feign ignorance and say that it never really occurred to me that you had an interest in a romantic relationship. You had made it clear that first night that it wasn't your area, I just assumed that meant with anyone, not just me. I guess that was a bit of arrogance on my part._

_I am sorry that I didn't understand your needs better. You have always been there for me, through thick and thin, done things I will never understand, but I know you had your reasons. I really let you down, didn't I? When you needed my support against your git of a brother, I chose the wrong side. I didn't even bother to hear yours, I just let what I thought was best for you rule my heart. You always stood by me (even when I made the wrong choices - Mary) and supported my decisions, no matter how wrong they were. You didn't try and sway my mind, you stood by me. Hell you even planned my wedding. And then you were there to help me pick up the pieces afterwards. I do owe you so much for everything you've ever done for me. You are truly the best and wisest man I have ever known. So much better than me. Well than most of us 'humans' in every single way._

_Which leads me to this next bit. It pains me that I can't be what you need me to be for you. Sherlock, you deserve all the happiness in the world and it's evident that your happiness may lie with Victor. Well, I'm not going to meddle, or stand in your way. I think it's in both our best interests if I take my leave of Baker Street now before I further complicate things. No, I'm not running away, I'm doing what anyone with an ounce of a brain would do, I'm giving you the room you need to live your life the way you see fit._

_You were wrong in one thing though. Your opinions meant everything to me. They helped me become a better person, just not the person you needed me to be._

_~John_

 

He read the note over quickly before he folded it and left it the kitchen table addressed to Sherlock. He rubbed his hands over his face before standing and heading for his room. It didn't take long for him to pack his things, after all it was one of the things he retained of military life - having all you belongings fit in one bag so you could be ready to leave at a moment’s notice, and his moment at 221B Baker Street was up. He had been luckier than most though, he had been given a second chance, something most people got, too bad he messed it up. He gave his room one last glance over before he shut the light off and descended the stairs. He didn't bother entering the flat, as he already had everything he needed from there (his laptop, Sherlock could keep everything else), he pulled the door shut and locked and moments later he was hailing a cab. He gave the cabbie the address of a small hotel on the outskirts of London. He needed to get out of the city.

 

John kept his head down as he registered under a fake name at a hotel on the edge of the city. He was thankful he kept a good amount of paper money on hand now, that he could pay for everything in cash and not have to make a trip to a cash machine to withdraw money. He didn't want to leave a trail right now. He didn't want to be found. He had turned his phone off as he exited Baker Street and he had no intention of turning it back on anytime in the near future. When he made it to his room, he sat his bag on the chair and sat on the edge of the bed. He counted his money quickly and figured it gave him a little over a week to figure out what he wanted to do from here..

He left everything in the bag, except his gun. That he got out and placed in the safe in the closet and locked it. It wasn't that he needed to do this for safety, the gun was empty and he had left all the bullets at Baker Street on the floor of his closet. He really didn't need the gun anymore but he was still responsible for it, so in the safe it went, locked away to be forgotten about, at least for now.

He returned to the bed and laid down in the middle of it, looking up at the ceiling. He turned his head to glance at the clock, 10:42pm. He wandered if Sherlock was home yet, and quickly decided to push that thought from his mind. He had to face the fact that this part of his life was over now, he wouldn't be going back, not this time, not since Sherlock had Victor now. And that's when the tears started to fall. He didn’t care, what did it matter anymore, it's not like anyone would be seeing them.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's POV

'Dr. Watson was last seen leaving 221B Baker Street last night. On his own free will and with a packed back.'  
  
Sherlock could hardly believe what Mycroft was telling him. John had left. He was gone! Why?! 

John had apologised, he had apologised even though he had fled the flat shortly afterwards after their row. Why would John leave?  
  
What had John told him? Sherlock replayed their conversation back while Mycroft and Victor were sending each other death glares. John had felt like he hadn't belonged. Like he was in the way. But surely...  
'Oh for God's sake, shut up both of you!' he snarled at his brother and Victor. 'I can't think.'  
  
Mycroft merely raised his eyebrow at Sherlock's outburst and Sherlock felt his anger and frustration shift to him. It was all Mycroft's fault anyway. He hadn't stopped meddling. What the hell had he told John?! 

'John seems like a capable enough guy,' Victor argued. 'Perhaps he was tired of being watched all the time.'   
Sherlock didn't miss the less than subtle blow to Mycroft's meddling and judging from his brother's expression, neither did he.   
  
'I need to see the flat.' Sherlock declared, turning his back to both men to go to the bedroom to get fully dressed. 

'Will, you said...'

'I know what I said! This isn't like John. He wouldn't just leave. He can't!'

_I can't have him leave. Not after everything. Not so soon!_  
  
The night he spent with Victor had been wonderful and exactly what he needed and more, but he still needed John with him. He needed to know what was wrong. He needed to fix this. Slowly, as he got dressed and turned his phone back on, he realised that leaving the flat had been a mistake. How had he thought that this would work before fixing things with John? The doctor was still everywhere in his mind, especially now. He wanted to move on, go back to the friendship he had before. To ignore the feelings he had for him until they died out. It wasn't what he really craved but it had to be enough. He couldn't lose John. 

He came out of the bedroom, fully dressed, phone in hand, ignoring Victor's worried look. 'William... this won't help. You need some distance from him.' 

Mycroft's eyes widened and he looked between the two men. So Victor knew. He knew about Sherlock's feelings for John and had convinced him to this anyway. 

‘Shut up Mycroft,' Sherlock hissed out before his brother could say anything. 'I came here willingly. Stop convincing yourself this is all his fault.'

'I would, if I didn't have the experience with Mr. Trevor that I do.'

Victor responded with nothing more than a glare and Sherlock opened a new text to John.  
  
_John, where are you? Mycroft told me you left. Please come home._ \- SH   
  
'Vic, I just... I need to know. That he's safe. I need to understand.' Sherlock nearly begged him to understand. If he could fix this, then he could move on. Victor sighed deeply, walking closer to him to palm Sherlock's cheek in his hand. Sherlock found himself leaning into the touch, not caring what Mycroft thought of this display. Victor's thumb grazed the love bite he had placed on his neck last night. It served as a subtle reminder what Sherlock had promised him last night.   
  
Yours, he had gasped when Victor entered him. Yours, yours, yours.   
  
'Alright,' Victor conceded. 'Please be careful.'

'John won't harm me.'

'He already has, remember?'   
  
The words hit him hard and Sherlock felt his heart clench. He'd forgotten how well Victor could read him.   
  
'Sherlock...' 

Mycroft's warning tone pulled him out of his thoughts and he stepped away from Victor to go with his brother. 

 

~~~~

 

Sherlock was ignoring Mycroft's stares in favour of his phone. John wasn't responding to his texts. He always did. Even when he was stuck at work, he'd always take the time to respond. 

Sherlock pressed the call button and was immediately directed to the voicemail. 

'John, turn on your phone!' 

He sounded worried, Sherlock knew that and with a grimace he ended the call. His eyes stayed firmly fixed on the phone, willing it to ring. 

'This is your fault,' Sherlock gritted out, not even bothering to look at Mycroft. 

'And how did you gather that?' 

Oh, Sherlock hated his brother right now. Pompous meddlesome fat bastard! 'What the hell did you say to John? Yes I know you talked to him! Not a difficult leap after John expressed his concerns about Victor being a 'bad influence'.'

Mycroft sighed deeply. 'I told him the truth, Sherlock. Or at least as much I felt was right to tell.'

Sherlock pressed his eyes shut, clenching his fists in frustration. 'You're wrong Myc.'

The use of Sherlock's old nickname for his brother momentarily surprised Mycroft, but Sherlock it seemed hadn't even noticed the slip. 'Am I?' Mycroft asked, tone more gentle now. '24 hours was all he needed to effectively pull you from Dr. Watson's side and into his bed, while being fully aware of your feelings towards your flatmate.'

'He didn't pull me away, I went willingly!' Sherlock yelled, finally meeting his brother's eyes. 'I'm done, Mycroft. You always told me caring wasn't an advantage and you were right.'  
  
_Oh Sherlock..._

Mycroft felt an agonising stab of sympathy for his younger brother. Loving John Watson for years, being pushed away by his exclamations of being 'not gay' and drawn back in by his mere presence. Dying for him, being tortured for him only to see him marry someone else. Killing for him, ready to see face death, for real that time. All for John Watson. 

And now there was someone who would be more than willing to give Sherlock the attention he wanted. Had it truly been such a surprise that he had fallen back into Victor's orbit?   
  
Meanwhile Sherlock was typing another message on his phone as the car drove up to Baker Street. Sherlock was out of the car without a word, dashing through the door and up the stairs.   
  
The silence of the flat was deafening. It was wrong enough that John wasn't here but it felt empty somehow. Sherlock darted up the stairs to John's room, throwing open the door. Empty. Not just empty of the man, but of his entire being. Clothes gone, suitcase gone. He was gone.   
  
'Sherlock.'  
  
Mycroft's voice from the kitchen brought him back downstairs. A letter? What...

'It is addressed to you.'

Sherlock took it silently, letting his eyes dart over the words John had written. No...no this was...John...  
  
Ignoring the burning in his eyes, he pulled out his phone and tried calling John again. Voicemail. No, he had to talk to him! 

'Find him, Mycroft!' he snarled as Sherlock contacted the Homeless Network. 

 

Sherlock was still clutching the letter in his hand as his phone buzzed on the table. Homeless Network. Every scrap of information they could find, he would store away to find John. His sister’s had already been ruled out. As had been Lestrade and Stamford. Bill Murray’s flat had been quiet too. John appeared seemed to have vanished from London, leaving everyone and everything behind.

How had Sherlock not seen this? How had he looked John in the eye and not seen what he had written in his letter? How had John not seen that Sherlock needed John in his life, with or without Victor? It was always John. If it meant giving up everything with Victor to keep John in his life, than he would. In a heartbeat. He had tried to live without him, first those two years pretending to be dead and then a year when John had married Mary. Never again.

Sherlock glanced at the letter again. He didn’t dare dream…but the words John had written made the hope bloom in his chest again. It would hardly be the first time that John managed to surprise him.

_Wasn’t your area…I just assumed that meant with anyone, not just me…you’re so much better than me…_   _I take my leave of Baker Street now before I further complicate things…your opinions mean everything to me…_

‘Anything?’

Mycroft’s voice startled him and he placed the letter back on the table. He had memorised every word by now and it wouldn’t change anything.

‘Nothing…he’s gone from London.’ Sherlock ran his hands through his hair in frustration. Other than the texts he was receiving from the Network, John still hadn’t responded to his messages or calls.

‘How could you have lost him?’ Sherlock sighed frustrated and Mycroft responded with a glare.

‘My own brother was showing some very worrisome behaviour in leaving the flat through his window. Not to mention Mr. Trevor’s sudden reappearance and your rather sudden re-acquaintance with each other.’

‘Oh for God’s sake, Mycroft, he’s clean. I’m clean. It’s been ten years!’

Sherlock phone buzzed again and the brother’s took that as a sign to leave this discussion be. For the time being. He focussed his attention back on the screen, as Mycroft set out to call some more people. But this wasn’t the Network. Victor’s number appeared on the screen. Text.

_Any luck finding him?_

Sherlock was quick in his reply.  _He left London_  – SH

Victor wasted no time and responded with two messages.

_William, I’m not telling you to do anything, but if he’s gone, perhaps you should take that as a sign of some sort. You can move on now._

_But I get it. I’ll be here, okay? I’m not going anywhere._

 


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's POV

It was 11:32 AM when John finally decided it was time join the world of the living. He wasn't hungry, but he was thirsty so he decided enough was enough and drug himself out of bed and into the bathroom for a shower. It didn't take long since he hadn't bothered to shave, it wasn't really a necessity after all. He put on the same jeans, but changed shirts. No sense in making too many clothes dirty since he wasn't sure when he'd be doing laundry again. He took a quick walk to the store at the corner and brought a couple bottles of water and a newspaper, then returned to his room. 

He laid the paper on the dresser and sat on the bed slowly drinking on of the bottles of water. He let out a deep sigh. Why had he even bothered getting up? He had nothing to do, so really what was the point? He then remembered of course he had things to do. The surgery. Oh well, they'd survive without him. They always found a way and they were used to it since he was always running of at the last moment with Sherlock. Although he usually did give Sarah notice when he could, but he couldn't care less right now. John should do the polite thing and phone her, feign sickness to cover his arse, but no one really needed him anyway. The world would go on without him. So he capped the bottle and sat in on the nightstand and returned to the bed.

 

But John didn't sleep. He just lay there on his stomach and tried not to think of anything. He watched the digital numbers on the clock tick by one by one until they blurred and his eyes focused on his phone that just sat there. It was still off. He had no intention of turning it on, but the guilt was beginning to eat at him - for leaving like he did, not even having enough nerve to wait for Sherlock to get back so he could tell him to his face.

But he had his reasons. He knew that if Sherlock had tried to convince him to stay he would have, no matter how much it pained him to see Sherlock with Victor.

John wondered if Sherlock even noticed he wasn't there. Sherlock tended to do that, not notice when John would leave until after John would point it out to him after he returned. That thought made John smile a little but it was short lived because he realised Sherlock probably never came home last night. Still, he should probably turn his phone on. It would be the right thing to do, but John wasn't really feeling like being right. He had tried doing what he thought was right yesterday and managed to wreck his whole world. No, he would just fade away into the background and let Sherlock's life work out like it should, without him.

As he watched the time pass, John went over every event in his life trying to figure out how he had ended up here on the outskirts of town in a hotel alone. 

His life wasn't supposed to turn out like this. Hell, barely a year ago, he had been married with a baby on the way and that all turned out to be one big lie. It seems like he was always choosing the wrong kind of person to get involved with, but John didn't choose Sherlock. Fate did. Well fate in the form of Mike Stamford that is. 

God what he wouldn't give to go back to the beginning and start over. Just start over and change things, take away all the hurt they caused each other.

John sighed out loud. Time to stop feeling sorry for himself. Time to come up with a contingency plan. Every good soldier had one and it was time John started acting like one again. 

 

The first thing John needed to do was to sever the rest of his ties to London. Which meant he should call Sarah and explain things to her.  At least that way if he ever needed to use her for a job reference she wouldn't burn his arse.  He spent several minutes coming up with a suitable story before turning his phone on.  Later today, he would see about replacing it altogether, harder to track that way after all, but for now he would just hope and pray that no one would notice. 

The phone vibrated with several texts and phone messages that he didn't bother reading or listening to, he just deleted them. 

He was tapping Sarah's number in when the screen flashed with an incoming call....Sherlock. His finger hovered over the answer button, God how he longed to hear that voice, wanted everything to be alright, but it wasn't, it couldn't be. He hit reject. 


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We want to thank you all from the bottom of our hearts! 
> 
> And we completely agree with you; these boys are idiots. But, keep on hoping, they'll figure it out. One day... they have a long road ahead.

Sherlock tried John’s number again, nearly falling over his chair when he wasn’t directed to voicemail. ‘His phone is on!’ he yelled at Mycroft and his older brother immediately called his office to track down the phone of John Watson.

 _Come on John, pick up please…_  

But the dial tone suddenly ended, signalling that John had refused the call. No, this couldn’t be it, dammit! Sherlock tried again, only this time the call was refused even quicker. _No, no, goddammit John, don’t do this!_

As quick as he managed, he opened a text, hoping that John would read it. 

_John please, pick up. I’m sorry. I read your letter. Please, John, come home. – SH_

_At least tell me you’re safe – SH_

It was low, using John’s own words against him, but Sherlock wouldn’t - couldn't - believe that this was it. 

 

John smiles wistfully as the two messages came in successively. Sherlock was never one to give up easily. 

He read the first text twice, Sherlock sounded desperate, almost worried - but that was the thing with a text, you could infer any meaning you wanted.

John quickly tapped out an answer. In the form of three texts. 

_Then why are you texting? I'm giving you exactly what you wanted._

_It's not my home anymore._

_Please don't try to find me._

 

Sherlock nearly screamed in frustration. John had gotten it all wrong. They both had! Didn’t he see? He tried to call again, but John refused the call yet again. _Stupid stubborn idiot!_

He texted again, quickly, to prevent John from shutting off the phone again before you could read the messages. 

_John, I was angry that Mycroft involved you and I’m sorry for the way I acted. I got defensive but I never wanted you to leave. Please, John, come home. You wanted to talk, then let’s talk. No storming out of the room, no yelling. I’ll do it. – SH_

‘We found him!’

Sherlock had never been so relieved to hear from Mycroft. ‘Where?’

‘Outside London. Hotel.’

Sherlock barely heard the address as he rushed downstairs, leaving Mycroft behind in favour of a cab. He needed to think and he definitely didn’t need Mycroft’s meddling right now. John and he needed to talk, no matter how much he dreaded it.

Sherlock hand clenched and it was only then that he realised that he had picked up the letter again, holding it strong enough to crumple it. He took a deep trembling gasp, refusing to acknowledge the burning sensation in his eyes.

He didn’t dare text John that he was on his way, in fear that John would run away from him again. He just had to hope, John would still be there once the cab arrived. 

 

The call to Sarah took more time than he would have liked, poor thing, she was always so considerate towards John when it came to matters concerning Sherlock. It always left John wondering why. Even now as he politely explained why he was leaving the surgery, she saw through it, even asked what Sherlock had done now.

‘Sherlock hasn't done anything Sarah, I just... London isn't home anymore.’

_‘John you love the city. What is really going on? I can't imagine anything worse than the Fall, are you sure the two of you aren't just misreading each other?’_

John had cringed at those particular words, at once it would have been just the Fall, but now it was the whole sentence.

‘Sarah, you know it's impossible to misread Sherlock. What you see is what you get, good or bad...’ his mind started wandering back to the text Sherlock had sent him - _I got defensive but I never wanted you to leave. Please, John, come home_. He glanced at his watch. Shit, he needed to end this call and get out of there. It was likely Sherlock could show up any minute - John knew Mycroft would be able to track his phone from the moment he turned it on - and he wanted to avoid that at all costs.

‘Look Sarah, thank you really, for everything, but I've got to get going.’

 _‘John-’_ but before she could say anything further, he ended the call.

John went over to the safe and quickly entered the combination and stowed the gun back in his bag. He added the water bottles and grabbed his coat, he glanced around the room making sure he had everything, of course he did, he never bothered to unpack. He was ready, He'd come back later and officially check out, but now he had to get out, he was hoping that the fake name he registered under brought him a few more moments, delaying the amount of time it would take Sherlock to find him.

 

But he found out differently as he opened the door to come face to face with Sherlock.


	12. Chapter Twelve

Sherlock felt his breath leave him in a rush at the sight of John. Suitcase packed, coat on. John had been ready to leave. Again. John was unshaven and looked like he hadn’t slept all night. Sherlock suddenly felt self-conscious about his own disheveled appearance. He had left Victor’s flat in a hurry, not even bothering to fix his hair.

‘John…’

His own voice sounded rough to his ears and he flinched a little when he saw John’s eyes flicker to the mark of Victor’s lips and teeth on his neck. Sherlock moved quickly to move his scarf and hide it. Dammit, he should have thought of this before. But the letter John had written had been forefront in his mind, making him oblivious to anything else. Sherlock was still holding the letter in his hand and he fiddled with it, nervously. What should he say?

He had been so fixed on getting John back home with him, that he hadn’t even considered what he was going to say to him. A thousand questions burned in his mind and the need to grab John and drag him with him was nearly too much.

 

John let out a pained sigh after taking note of Sherlock's appearance- at least he had been right about Sherlock spending the night in Victor's bed. He really didn't want to do this, but it seemed like Sherlock was intent on backing him into a corner and not giving him a choice. John looked at the floor, not wanting to make any more necessary eye contact with Sherlock than he needed, that's when he noticed his letter in Sherlock's hands. The way he clutched it, ruffling the edges with his fingers, needing the tactile sensation to calm him down - John had seen it plenty times before, but why had this upset Sherlock so much. He surely didn't need John anymore with the return of Victor.

 

‘Why did you leave?’

It wasn’t at all what Sherlock wanted to ask but he couldn’t stop himself. Hope was burning in his chest and despite the letter, he needed to hear it from John’s own mouth. 

 

John cleared his throat, ‘I believe I explained everything in that.’ He pointed to the letter. ’I also asked you not to do this. Show up like this,’ waving at the air between them. He shook his head, keeping his eyes locked on the floor now, he couldn't do this, he didn't have the strength. All Sherlock would need to do is give him one reason to stay and he would, he knew he would.

’Please, just let me go. It's what you want isn't it? Me not meddling in your affairs with  ** _him_** , well, this is me doing exactly that.’ John took a shaky breath. ’And another thing - I know you don't believe this but if you take a moment and replay the events in your head you know as well as I do that it's true... you said you were angry that Mycroft involved me - well Sherlock, Mycroft didn't involve me. I became involved the moment Victor interrupted  ** _our_**  dinner. And to make it perfectly clear, I didn't like him from the start. I still can't explain to you why, but the man just leaves me with an uneasy feeling, why do you think I left? So don't blame this on your brother, he was only trying to watch out for you.’

John stopped there before he blurted out anything more. He had said everything he wanted to in the letter. He hadn't wanted to have this conversation face to face because he was afraid he's finally tell Sherlock the real reason why, and he was teetering dangerously close to the edge of that now. He took another deep breath, steadying himself for the biting words he was sure Sherlock had for him.

 

‘I don’t want you to leave!’ Sherlock burst out. He couldn’t believe John would think that. After everything Sherlock had done for him… ‘I can’t have you leave. I can’t…’

Sherlock took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. It would not help them if Sherlock blurted out everything. He would only scare John away. But when John spoke of Mycroft, his anger flared up again. 

‘Mycroft doesn’t need to protect me from Victor and neither do you. Victor is…’

_No, no stop it! Don’t defend him, not now. Not with everything in the balance like this. For God’s sake, calm down!_ ‘Please come home, John. I don’t want it to be like this. I’ll still have the work and I still need your help on the cases. You’re my best friend…’ 

The words almost made him sick to his stomach. He didn’t want John around for just the cases, like it had been with Mary, but if that was all he could get, he would gladly take it. He wanted it all. Selfish as he was, he wanted it both!

‘Victor won’t even be around much, if you really dislike him so much. It doesn’t have to change.’

 

John bit the inside of his lip and shook his head, tried his damnedest to keep the tears back that were threatening to spill over onto his cheeks.

‘It already has changed,’ John said quietly. ’And you don't need me on the cases, you never have. You'll be fine without me.’ John had already resigned to the fact that this is how things needed to be. Now if he could just keep himself from looking at Sherlock and get him out the door, he could do this. He could make a clean break and go somewhere else. All he had to do was hold his stand his ground and not let Sherlock talk him out of it.

‘Please Sherlock,’ he began meekly, ‘For me, don't make this any harder than it needs to be.’ He still couldn't look up from the floor. Hell, he'd be surprised if he made it through the next five minutes without agreeing to go back to Baker Street, but he needed to at least try. Not back down, make Sherlock see that he meant business. 

 

'John...'  
  
Sherlock couldn't believe what he was seeing nor hearing. John, not useful for the cases? Hadn't he once said it? A conductor of light. And he had meant it. Still did! John offered him clarity where there had been none, he had made him see and understand the sentimental side of things. He had saved his life, multiple times because he had rushed in without back up. 

How could John believe Sherlock would be fine without him?  
  
John was begging him to let him go, to let him leave. Part of Sherlock wanted to fight, to grab John by his shoulders and tell him everything. How, even last night, he had hoped it was John touching him, making him come undone. That it was John's bed they'd fallen into. Sherlock wanted to scream he had been wrong that first night at Angelo's. 

Sherlock wanted to slam the suitcase out of John's hands and kiss him until they were both out of breath.   
  
But John wanted to leave. He wanted to be left alone. And there was not a thing in the world Sherlock Holmes would not do for John Watson.   
  
He tried to keep the trembling of his body under control as he struggled for words. To shield his emotions away like he had done before they first encountered Moriarty.   
  
Moving on, Victor had called it. Perhaps he had been right. Perhaps this would have happened either way eventually. Wasn't it better now than later?  
  
Sherlock nodded silently, more to himself than to John and moved aside slightly. 'Will you at least tell me where you'll go?' he breathed out, cursing himself for sounding so defeated and resigned. 

 

Even though John had prepared himself to leave, it still hurt. He drew in a ragged breath and shook his head no. He couldn't speak, he knew his voice would crack if he did, and then his resolve to leave would fade and he would stay. He cleared his throat a bit and tried to say something, anything. All of the sudden it didn't seem right not saying anything, hell, this whole situation wasn't right.

Sherlock was willing to let him stay at Baker Street and keep  ** _him_**  away, but John knew it wouldn't be that simple. He knew plenty of men (and women for that matter) like that, they would rub it in your face every chance they got. No. He couldn't bear that, even if he couldn't bear being alone, he'd find a way to survive. God what he wouldn't give just to tell Sherlock he would go back to Baker Street with him but he knew it would never work, not as long as Victor Trevor was in the picture.

He finally took a step forward, placing himself right in front of Sherlock. He couldn't leave yet, not without knowing something - how those lips felt. What did he have to lose? He took a deep breath and turned to face Sherlock. He finally found the courage to look up at Sherlock, maybe even risk kissing him, just once, just to know if those perfect lips felt like he had always fantasised, but Sherlock was looking away. John would never know, he frowned. It was just wishful thinking anyway...

He let his fingers rest on top of Sherlock's.

‘I can't tell you where I'm going.’

Then he wove his fingers between Sherlock's and squeezed his hand. He deserved at least one touch, even if it wasn't the one he wanted. ’Goodbye Sherlock.’ John managed to choke out and took his leave swiftly down the hall as the tears started streaming down his cheek. 

 

Sherlock stayed frozen, barely hearing John's footsteps moving away from him. The fingers which had touched John still felt warm with his touch and he kept staring at them as if John's hand would magically reappear again.   
  
He didn't try to think about the fact that one year ago he had done the same. Out on the tarmac. Saying goodbye and only allowing himself one more touch. Too little, too late.   
  
Again.   
  
Sherlock felt sick. His mind felt blurred and his skin felt like it was two sizes too small for his body. He wanted to run. To hide himself away from the world like he had done after John's wedding. Forget himself.   
  
_I'll be here._  
  
He didn't have to be alone. Not this time. Victor had warned him. Not with so many words but he had seen this coming and he had offered Sherlock his help. His comfort.   
  
_Moving on._  
  
He didn't know how long he stood there, before snarling and turning away from the room. It didn't take him long to find a cab and he barked out Victor's address before Baker Street even came to mind. He couldn't handle the flat right now. He hated seeing it empty!   
  
Sherlock was fidgety during the ride, ignoring his phone. By the time the cab pulled up, Sherlock was nearly out of his mind with anger, grief and frustration. The front door was open for him and Victor jumped up the sofa - his phone fell from his hand, he must've been texting him - at the sound of Sherlock slamming the door shut. 

'William! What...have you found him? Will, what's going on?!'  
  
Sherlock ignored Victor's questions in favour of lighting up a cigarette and started pacing through the room. Victor hesitated for a moment before coming closer. 'Will...'  
  
'He's gone!' Sherlock yelled and Victor froze. 'He left. He left me!'

Victor said nothing and if Sherlock had been clearer he would have seen the darkening in his eyes. 'He just...'

A sudden firm hand on the back of his neck pulled him out of his rant and he stared up at Victor with wide eyes. 

'I'm here, Will,' Victor whispered and Sherlock practically felt himself lean into the touch. 'I'm so sorry, but I'm here. Let me help...'  
  
Yes. Yes, he needed to stop thinking. Victor could do that. He would make him forget the pain. 

Victor's other hand traced Sherlock's hand, the one John had touched, as if he knew. As if to eradicate John from his skin. The other hand stayed firmly in place. 'Come on,' Victor nearly growled and Sherlock followed him to the bedroom without question. 


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John finds picking up the pieces might not be as slow a process as he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took so long to write and bring things together. Hopefully that won't happen again (damn migraines)

It took nearly a week for John to find himself settled and ready to face life once again without Sherlock. He had to admit looking back on it now, Sarah had helped him through a great bit of it and he didn’t know how he could ever repay her. Sarah had introduced him to her friend Liam, who lived in the quaint little town of Amersham just on the outskirts of London. He ran the local clinic here and was looking for some help. John had found himself in a little restaurant having dinner a week after he had left London, and enjoying the levity of the night. By the end of the evening, Liam had invited him to stop by the clinic the next day and John had agreed. He wasn’t sure what his future held, but he knew he had nothing to lose and decided to give it a chance. He was getting a bit tired of living in a hotel and knew he needed to find somewhere to settle.

John met Liam the next day mid-morning and spent the rest of the day helping out. By the end of the day he felt like he had found a new home and was anxious to talk to Liam about staying on. As they were cleaning up and putting things away, Liam invited John to dinner.

“I would like that because I do believe I would like to take you up on joining the clinic if the offer still stands.” John replied.

“Absolutely. I was hoping you would find it a place you’d want to stay. I think you’d make a fine addition to our community John.” Liam admitted.

Dinner went well and John found himself agreeing to working at the clinic for the next month to see how it goes. John agreed and got a recommendation for a place to stay and when they parted ways, John actually felt a bit of hope rising in his chest. He spent the next two days getting his things in order and gave Liam a call. They arranged that he could begin the following Monday morning.

The first week went rather fast and John ended up spending nearly every evening having dinner with Liam. It was that Friday evening when they were having dinner at Liam’s flat when their conversation turned personal. John had made some off handed comments here and there about leaving London, but as they sat there on the couch enjoying a beer and watching some telly, John started talking during an advert and didn’t stop. Liam let him go on as much as needed and John told him everything from start to finish. Nearly two hours and four beers later when John was finished, Liam saw a very different man before him. John’s eyes had become heavy laden and John was drifting. Liam had eased him back onto the couch and let him fall asleep. He walked into his bedroom and grabbed a pillow and some blankets and made John comfortable.

Under any other circumstances John may have found the next morning awkward, but he didn’t. He had woke early even though it was the weekend and decided to get up and make breakfast as a way of saying thank you to Liam for his kindness the previous night. He didn’t know that many people who would sit there willing while listening to him drone on for two hours about life with Sherlock. In fact he knew no one who fit that bill. The more he thought on it, the more he decided he liked spending time with Liam and he was pretty certain that Liam felt the same way. So John stood there making eggs and let himself get lost in his thoughts, even began humming a little. He could get used to this.

The second week progressed much like the first with the exception that Friday evening, they didn’t get drunk. They did find themselves in front of the telly again watching a movie but getting lost in conversation, the movie long forgotten. This time Liam shared stories about his life and John chimed in with some of his own stories from when he was younger. As the evening was coming to a close John began to chuckle. 

“What?” Liam asked quirking an eyebrow.

“It’s just I would have never guessed I’d find something like this so soon after my life seemingly fell apart.”

“And by this you mean?”

“Everything. This little town that I’ve come to love, a great little clinic that I now work at with a very intriguing owner, wonderful meals every night and I don’t know it just feels all so right.” As he had been talking, he found himself inching closer and closer towards Liam. “I want you to know that I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me. I also want you to know that I don’t need the full month to decide if I want to stay on at the clinic because if you’ll have me, I’d like to stay. I’ve already started looking for a permanent residence. I hope to find something by the end of next week.”

Liam was also drawing closer to John, he smiled “I’d love for you to stay on John. In fact as it happens, I also have an extra room. You are more than welcome to move in here while you look so you don’t have to continue staying in that motel. I know the hotel is nice, but it’s not quite home.”

John grinned, “You’re right, it’s not like home, but this is.” He leaned the rest of the way, pleased that he didn’t have to chase Liam’s lips too far. It was a soft, gentle slide of lips against each other and hands reaching out for each other to pull the other closer. Soft hums escaped both their mouths as their kiss deepened and John smiled when their kiss broke. His hand came up caressing Liam’s cheek, his fingers tracing his lips.

“I’d very much like that, to be able to call this home.”

Now four months later, John was enjoying a cuppa at the cafe down the street from his flat, waiting for his boyfriend to join him for breakfast. Liam had snuck up behind John and planted a kiss on the nape of his neck as he gave him a quick hug before taking the seat opposite John. 

"Mmmm, morning." John greeted with a smile. 

"It is now since I can enjoy your company on this gorgeous Sunday morning." Liam smiled back, reaching across the table taking John's hand. "Sorry for leaving… in the middle of…well, like that last night." 

"No need to apologise, it was your night on call. A cold shower helped calm me down, though I’m not quite sure what you did. By the way, is everything alright with Mrs. Pearson?" 

Liam smirked. "Oh she’s fine, a false alarm she claimed. You know how it is, she's just lonely since her children refuse to come and see her and then she gets herself worked up. A few biscuits, some piping hot tea and a nice long chat afterwards, she was fine. She asked after you, and I of course told her you were doing well, at home in bed, sleeping like a babe while I was out working to earn our keep.” Liam flashed a brilliant smile as he leaned back in his chair and chuckled at John. “And, to answer your question, I might have been a bit naughty in the car on the way across town to her cottage.” 

John blushed, yes, honest to god blushed. He put his head down and chuckled, shaking a bit from the laughter. “Well, it was good of you to go straight away and not make her wait.” 

“I hope you don’t mind me taking things into my own hands like that, you know how she is though, always looking for the latest bit of hot, tawdry gossip to share at her weekly card games with the girls, and I don’t imagine me walking in with a raging hard on would have gone unnoticed.” 

Now John really let loose with peals of laughter, “Oh god yes, I know the type, yea.” He was about to relate a story about Mrs. Hudson, when their waitress appeared taking their order. He was thankful for the interruption, he hated making references to his past with Sherlock; he didn’t want Liam to think he was comparing them.

Liam reached back across the table and took John’s hand when their waitress disappeared, reading John’s reluctance to share a memory. “Hey, you know it’s ok. You don’t have to keep a story to yourself just because he was part of it. John, that’s part of your past and part of you. You needn’t hide it from me. It doesn’t upset me, if anything, it makes me grateful because it ended up bringing you here to me. And you also know it’s ok not to tell me. It’s your choice.” 

John squeezed Liam’s hand, “Thank you. I guess I’m still working on that bit. All of this is still a bit new for me. Not too many people could handle Sherlock, let alone the luggage that comes with having lived with him for so long.” 

“Well, you’re in luck, I’m not everyone.” 

“You’re certainly not.” John said as he reached across the table and hooked his hand around the back of Liam’s neck drawing him in for kiss. When they broke Liam leaned into his ear, “How about after breakfast you allow me to show you how our evening should have ended.” 

John’s mouth fell agape, but it wasn’t at Liam’s words. It was because when he opened his eyes he saw Sherlock standing mere feet away watching him and Liam snogging over the breakfast table.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you.
> 
> Two little words that don’t even come close to the appreciation and love I feel for every single one of you who have decided to take the time to read our little stories, kudo it and/or comment on them.  
> Every time when I receive a screenshot with your comments from Sherrllocked while I’m stuck at work, even the most busy evening gets bearable. And when I look at the statistics of our stories, my heart makes a little summersault in my chest.
> 
> Thank you. I can’t say it enough and I’m sure Sherrllocked completely agrees with me. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

Tedious. That was the one thing that went through Sherlock's mind as he took in the town around him. He hadn’t wanted to come here at all, but Lestrade kept pestering him and Victor – damned Mycroft for giving the DI Victor's number as well – with this dull case involving a robbery. This was beneath him and frankly, he hated going on cases on his own. 

_Stop!_

Sherlock grimaced as his thoughts threatened to divert him to John again. It was no use. John was gone – Sherlock didn’t know where even though he was convinced Mycroft did and kept his eye on him – and he was moving on. At least, that’s what he told himself. 

He was trying, he really was. Victor didn’t like it if he spoke of John and somehow he always knew when his mind was starting to wander back to him. Sherlock knew Victor didn’t deserve it. He had stayed with him, giving him everything he wanted, tried to help him as much as he could. Victor didn’t deserve someone who was still pining away over someone else. 

Molly was worried about him. Normally she would fight – a little – to give him so much access to her lab but ever since she learned of John’s departure, she had let him in, without complaint, watching him from the corner of her eye. No doubt she was reporting to Mycroft. Sherlock hadn’t seen his brother since John left and Sherlock was determined to keep it that way.

John would’ve been angry if he saw Sherlock now. He barely remember to eat – Victor didn’t press, he never had – and sleep eluded him more often than not. No matter how he tried, his mind never quieted down long enough to get a proper night of sleep. Victor didn’t bother placing his marks where Sherlock could hide them and he noticed Molly frowning every time she saw the love bites on his neck. Yet she never uttered a word about Victor. She hadn’t even acknowledged him when Victor came to pick him up one day. 

Feeling antsy, Sherlock decided to get something to drink – strong coffee preferably – before going to the address Lestrade had given him. He needed to clear his head.

He threw the cigarette on the ground– he had taken up smoking again since that day – before entering the first coffee shop he found, immediately blocking out the noises of the people around him.

But as he neared the counter, there was one sound – one glorious sound which he thought he would never hear again – that pulled him out of his seclusion. Sherlock would recognize that laugh anywhere. Not long ago he had done everything in his power to hear it directed to him.

_John…_

For a moment he feared that it was figment of his imagination. Surely, it couldn’t be… but as he looked around and his eyes fell on the short cropped hair of his doctor, he barely managed to stay upright. John. Right there. Laughing. Flirting. Kissing. Another man. 

Sherlock could hear John’s protests –  _Sherlock is not my boyfriend! I’m not gay. No we’re not…–_ loud as thunder in his head. Yet here John was, with another man, familiar. A colleague. A boyfriend!

Sherlock had tried to make peace with the fact that he had fallen in love with a straight man. That nothing could have prevented this. It happened all the time.

But this… John didn’t have a problem with men. It  _had_ been him. It was him that John had not been interested in. 

Of course he hadn't been; the man was shorter than him - still a little taller than John - with strawberry blonde hair. Pale eyes, practically shining with mirth and an easy smile. Slender. Well-dressed. Confident. They looked good together, Sherlock noted, as his stomach clenched dangerously. 

Sherlock couldn’t tear his eyes away, no matter how hard his mind and body were screaming at him to run away, to go back to London and drown himself in the noise of the city, but he kept still, watching them. Until John’s eyes locked with his and the smile disappeared from his former friend’s face. The man who John was with looked confused, before turning around, looking for whatever had found John’s attention. The man’s eyes stayed locked on Sherlock as well and Sherlock saw every trace of the smile he adorned earlier disappear. So John had told him who he was, or shown him pictures. Had he read the blog? Seen stories of them when things had been better? 

Sherlock could hear his own name fall from John’s lips and that spurred him into action. He needed to leave. Now!

Coffee and case forgotten, he turned on his heels, colliding into the woman who stood behind him in the line in his attempt to leave the coffee shop. Dammit, when had it become so crowded?  _Leave…leave, let me out!_

He didn’t even know if he spoke the words aloud and he didn’t care, cursing Lestrade. Had he known? That John was living here? Had he and Mycroft set this up somehow? They must have! Of all the places he could have run into John… 

Once outside and on the nearest street corner, he paused, not daring to look back. Sherlock brought a cigarette to his lips with trembling fingers – body was betraying him again – and lit it, inhaling the smoke and nicotine with a shaky breath.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

John was on his feet and following Sherlock before he realised Liam was right behind him.  He stopped quickly and turned, nearly falling over as Liam ran into him. John put his hands up to steady them and turned his head quickly to get a visual on Sherlock. He was on the corner, back to the bent over and smoking? Christ! Four months, and it all came rushing back just like that. John turned back to Liam.

"Please, I need to do this alone, I'll catch up with you later, okay?" He hated to ask this of Liam - no, he was telling Liam this is how it was going to happen. He turned quickly again to see if Sherlock was still at the corner.

Liam put his hands up, "Yes, of course. So I guess this means  _after breakfast_ is off?" Liam tried joking halfheartedly. Liam always resorted to this tactic when he was sad or disappointed with things. Liam had already resigned that their morning, probably day was over as soon as he turned to see none other than Sherlock Holmes standing in line for coffee in their small town, but then this was just Liam's kind of luck. He knew it hadn't been planned.  He could tell it by Sherlock's visceral reaction.  "John, it's OK. I understand. Go, you need to do this. It's time to tell him exactly how you feel, you either need it to be truly over or maybe starting."

John straightened his back and cocked his head, regret washing over his face.

"Liam, I'm sorry."

"I know you are John, I know." And he did. Liam knew that John hadn't left Sherlock behind completely. That was exactly the reason why he told John to go to him; as long as John still had feelings for Sherlock, there was never going to be any hope that their own relationship would ever work out. He'd rather lose John now before they got involved with other even deeper. Not months down the line when John realised maybe there still was a chance with Sherlock. And just because John was running to Sherlock's side now, it didn't necessarily mean he was there to stay.

"Thank you, Liam" and just like that, John was out the door and on his way to Sherlock's side.  He had no idea what he was going to say, but he needed to say something, get the door opened so they could talk at least.  God, how he longed to hear the deep tones of his voice.  When he was a few steps away he stopped cautiously.

 

"Always did know how to make quite the entrance and exit, yeah?" John question nervously.

Sherlock was so absorbed by his own mind that he hadn't seen John approaching him. He cursed himself for the need to smoke. He could have just gotten a cab, or something, to prevent this.

Yet, hearing John's voice...  
  
Sherlock tried to control the shiver that went through him, but failed, huddling deep inside his coat to pass it off as him being cold. 

John sounded nervous. He obviously hadn't suspected to see Sherlock here today - why would he? Sherlock's mind supplied. He's made no effort to contact you during these past months.   
  
'You did once accuse me of being a drama queen, I believe,' he murmured, not daring to raise his eyes to look at him. His gaze stayed focused on the passing cars - were there no more cabs in this God forsaken place?! John hadn't wanted to see him anymore so Sherlock thought it best to remove himself from John's sight before they'd resort to another argument. Last time was bad enough.

'You look...well,' he added softly. That's what people did, didn't they? After seeing someone from their past. Pay a compliment.   
  
Sherlock took another deep drag from his cigarette, sensing John was frowning at the offending stick. Always a doctor...  
  
If he'd been anybody else, he might attempt to start a conversation - how have you been? What have you been up to? Who the hell is _he_?! 

Instead Sherlock stayed silent, smoking, trying not to look at John. He did look good though, Sherlock noted. Some new clothing, freshly shaved. Oh, what he wouldn't give to trace his fingers along John's jaw...  
  
Where is a bloody cab when he needed one?

'Isn't he waiting for you?' Sherlock clipped. After all the denials John had uttered about his sexuality, this was all becoming too much rapidly. 

 

John couldn't quite come to terms with how rattled Sherlock seemed. He visibly shivered when John began to speak. He couldn't be cold since it was a mild day out, so what was this all about? In fact, Sherlock's whole demeanour was off. He had looked visibly shocked to see John with another man.

OK, not only with another man, but kissing one publicly not caring who saw, and -  _oh bloody Christ!_

That's what Mycroft meant that day! So many things were just clicking into place and everything John thought he knew about how Sherlock really felt just shattered like a pane of glass. How could he have been so blind, everyone else saw it, well everyone but him AND Sherlock.  At least he wasn't alone in his idiocy. This was good, this was wonderful, this was... oh poor Liam, but Liam already knew. And Liam had just told him to go find out and to follow his heart.

 _Whoa,_ John thought to himself. He needed to slow his mind down and get himself under control because now he really needed to proceed forward with some finesse and pay attention. Sherlock looked incredibly nervous and uncomfortable around John, but at least now John was beginning to understand why. All this time...he shook his head gently and really began to pay attention to Sherlock and see what Sherlock had been trying to get him to see all this time. Sherlock's words rang out LOUD in his ears, 'you see yet you do not observe.'  

Seems they both were guilty of that particular offence.

When Sherlock asked if Liam was waiting for him, it was so easy to answer. To be able to finally tell Sherlock what was really going on without having to hide any of his feelings. The words just flowed off his tongue.  

"No actually,' John started, 'he told me to come to you and to tell you exactly how I feel. I always thought you knew. I mean you know everything about everyone so I just thought you knew... but you really don't do you? You really don't know that I love you."

God it was liberating to finally get that out in the open after keeping it locked away (apparently too well, even for the world's only consulting detective).  


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Sherlock nearly let the cigarette fall from his fingers at John's words and he snapped his head up to look at him.

He must have misheard. Surely John didn't...but it was there, right on his face. The nervous expectancy that came with saying those words for the first time, the hope gleaming in those eyes...  
  
_I love you._  
  
Three simply words, almost utterly meaningless on their own but together they could destroy everything. Or mend it. Had he really been so blinded by John's protests?

The words of John's letter...the heartbreaking touch of their hands when John left...John's reaction at seeing the mark on his neck... _oh God John!_

It all came flooding back to him as he witnessed the information in new light.   
  
Sherlock couldn't believe it. Had they both been so bloody blind?!   
  
'Sherlock?'  
  
John's voice suddenly rang loud and clear and Sherlock had to blink himself back to the present. John was still watching him, a bit more worried now and Sherlock wanted to kiss that set of John's mouth away from him.   
Sherlock took a deep shaky breath, trying to collect himself. It suddenly occurred to him that, besides his parents, no one actually had said those words to him. And here John was. Beyond all hope.   
  
Sherlock reached out carefully, letting his fingers collide with the hand that had said goodbye from four months ago and when John stretched his fingers to reciprocate the words left him in a rush.

'John, I thought you weren't... well, you're bisexual, bit obvious now to be honest. But I... God I've been blind! I... John, can't you see? Didn't you know all this time? Everything I did, since I realised, has been for you. I thought you never...'

Oh this was hopeless! Sherlock barely managed to formulate one decent sentence with their fingers intertwined like that.   
  
He wanted to say the words back, but they seemed stuck in his throat. He needed to get them out. What if they misread this, again? John needed to know.

 'John...' he breathed out his name like a prayer, containing all the words he couldn't find in that one word. 

 

John pulled Sherlock to him, reaching for the cigarette with his free hand and gently easing it from Sherlock's trembling fingers. He dropped it onto the ground silently as his hand continued its journey to Sherlock's cheek.   Sherlock drew in a shaky breath as John's fingers made contact, he leaned into them, his hand rising and closing over John's. Time completely stopped as John continued to draw Sherlock closer to him, until their foreheads rested together, Sherlock reeling from the warmth of John's breath being so very close, their lips almost touching. John's thumb caressed Sherlock's cheek, the fingers on his other hand tightened around Sherlock's and drew it up to his chest near his heart which was pounding so hard he was surprised it hadn't burst out of his rib cage. 

"Oh Sherlock," John murmured, "All this time?" he questioned softly, brushing away a stray tear as Sherlock nodded and screwed his eyes shut.  

 

Sherlock’s heart hammered violently in his chest as he leaned in to John’s touch. This was real. He could feel him on his skin. This wasn’t a dream. Not a hallucination. John was here, with him. Touching him. And he loved him! 

He couldn’t fight back the tears escaping from his eyes and he gasped as he felt John’s thumb brush them away. He had tried to convince himself for so long that he was alright, that he had started to believe it himself. Almost. But now, all the walls he had built around him came crashing down. John. Always John Watson. 

‘I couldn’t…I couldn’t risk losing you, so I never…’ Sherlock swallowed, trying to find the words. ‘I didn’t realise it until I was gone and then when I came back you had Mary and I just…I never dared to hope that you…’ There was nothing Sherlock wanted to do more right now than to finally taste those lips he craved for so long. But not here. Not in the middle of the street, with tears running down his face. This was not how he wanted it to go. This, this right here, didn’t belong to anyone else but them. 

‘I missed you,’ he muttered softly, opening his eyes to read John’s expression. 

 

John let out a small laugh, "God, you have no idea... no idea how many nights I've dreamt of this, still dream of this. I didn't want to go, but I couldn't stay, I just...I just...." his voice trailed, he was not going to ruin the moment by bringing him up. He would deal with that later if need be, but that wasn't what was important right now. Sherlock was important. Sherlock was right here in front of him, admitting things to him he'd never thought he'd hear in real life.

"I'm so sorry for leaving. Please forgive me, I just didn't think I was what you wanted or needed and I didn't know what to do.  My heart was so broken because I have never loved anyone like you Sherlock, never and I couldn't bear it, I just ..." he sucked in air, there was so much to say it was all running together, but he was becoming aware that people were starting to gawk (not that he cared, he didn't) so he pulled back slightly from Sherlock, still holding his hand.  

"We need to find somewhere private, this moment belongs to you and me. I don't want to share it with anyone."

 

Sherlock nodded, glad for John's suggestion of going somewhere private. He couldn't bare his soul like that out here on the street. They needed a place where they could talk and sort this out. Baker Street. There really was no other place they belonged together. And the one place where they could be alone.   
  
Until John let the conversation drift to Victor, Sherlock hadn't even thought of him.  
The shock of seeing John and now finally being here with him had chased away every thought of Victor.   
  
'Will you come home?' Sherlock asked carefully. He didn't want to risk scaring John away now. Victor had never set foot inside Baker Street and since John had left, Sherlock hadn't been there much either. It was simply too painful.   
Yet it still was home for them. The two of them. Like Sherlock had wanted it be in the first place. 

 

John had momentarily thought of going back to his flat, it was so close, and there were things he needed to know - specifically how Sherlock's lips felt, tasted.  But that could prove to be disastrous because Liam could be there or worse walk in on them and that wouldn't really be fair.  John had felt a momentary pang of guilt, but Liam had told him to go to Sherlock knowing full well this could be an outcome. He would have to talk to Liam later, but not now. No, that wasn't right. John couldn't do that. It wasn't fair. Liam deserved to know what John was doing, he didn't deserve to be just tossed aside like yesterday's old newspaper.

The softest of smiles graced John's lips.  

"Home. Yes. I'd like that very much. But there's one thing I need to do first. It's only right. I need maybe half an hour? I don't really know but..."

Sherlock instinctively knew what John was asking for.  Time to end this chapter of his life here, to explain that to his boyfriend and leave on good terms. "John, go attend to what you need to. I need to check on a few things for Lestrade anyway so that should be ample time. Shall I wait at the rail or tube station?"

John smiled, Sherlock was always two steps ahead. "The rail, it will be faster." Before he turned to leave though, he did step forward, up on his toes he went, as he quickly placed a chaste kiss to Sherlock's lips - a promise of what was to come later. "Thank you. I promise I won't be long."

 

Sherlock had to fight every instinct of his body to grab John and hold him close to him. He needed to taste those lips again. Categorize every texture he found find and every reaction he could pull from the other man. He wanted to know what it felt like to be loved and kissed by John Watson.

Instead he licked his lips as John pulled back and regarded him with a smile. ‘Okay,’ he breathed out and he couldn’t help it; he smiled back at John. His chest felt less tight now and he actually felt like he could eat without throwing up. He should take advantage of that. ‘I’ll just…’ he pointed in the general direction of the train. ‘Good luck. Will you…text me, when you’re on your way?’

‘I will, Sherlock,’ John ensured him and Sherlock nodded again before walking off to the train station, phone in hand to text Lestrade.

 

Couldn’t make the case. Something came up. Don’t disturb me – SH

He should have known better that Lestrade would mindlessly accept his vague text. When his phone started ringing, Sherlock rolled his eyes. Lestrade had made up every single excuse to call Sherlock these past few month. They didn’t yet know that everything had changed.

‘Yes?’

_‘The hell, Sherlock, did you even talk to them?’_

Sherlock sighed deeply as he made his way to the station with long strides. ‘Like I said, inspector; something came up. I’m on my way back to London now.’ Lestrade was silent for a moment and Sherlock froze mid-step. Oh that son of a…

‘You knew…’

 _‘What are you talking about?’_ ¬Oh definitely lying.

‘You know, if I hadn’t been the world’s only consulting detective in the world with an excellent ability to tell whether people are lying or not, you might have gotten away with that.’

Lestrade sighed deeply. _‘Fine, yeah, alright. I knew. We were hoping…’_

‘We?’

_‘Oh for God’s sake, Sherlock. Yes, we! We’re worried about you and I know you don’t want to hear it, but I think Mycroft might be right about this. You’ve not been yourself and you know it!’_

Sherlock had no choice but to agree with Lestrade. But now though… ‘Well, I won’t be working on the case, if there even is one. Something came up.’

_‘Sherlock, did you see him?’_

Sherlock took a deep breath, nodding to himself. ‘Yes I did,’ he muttered, before hanging up. Let Lestrade worry for a while, for his deception. Mycroft would still have Baker Street under surveillance; he would know soon enough.


End file.
